


That Don't Impress Dean Much

by ANobleCompanion



Series: That Don't Impress Dean Much [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Fluffy Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANobleCompanion/pseuds/ANobleCompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has fallen and he's trying to find a way to impress Dean so the hunter will want to keep him around</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So You're a Rocket Scientist

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Shania Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much"
> 
> Thanks to FrecklesAreChocolate and Tundraeternal for the fantabulous betas!

When Castiel fell for the final time, he fell in more ways than one.  He fell from Heaven.  He fell from Grace.  And he fell _for_ Dean Winchester.  

The last had been the easiest, and the longest in coming.  The acknowledgement of it was as simple as breathing.  Acting on it proved to be much more difficult.  

Now, for all intents and purposes human, Cas felt useless, a burden to Sam and Dean.  He was no longer strong, fast and virtually indestructible.  He could not heal even their most minor cuts, much less major injuries.  Why then, Cas wondered, would they - would Dean - wish him to remain beside them?  

He knew his continued inability to understand basic human needs and social norms frustrated both Winchesters.  He knew them well enough to know they wouldn’t tell him to leave either.  Dean especially, was loyal to a fault.  But now that Cas had fallen, he wanted more than a place to stay, he wanted a place to finally belong like he had never really belonged amongst his brothers and sisters in Heaven.  Even more than that, he wanted _Dean_ \- in every way _humanly_ possible.  

So he set out to try and find a way to prove himself to Dean.  

One advantage to being a former angel and several millennia old was his vast experience and personal knowledge.  Dean and Sam constantly needed to perform research on various demons and monsters.  The Men of Letters library was well equipped, it was true, but it still lacked much.  

Though his vessel, his _body,_ now required sleep, he still could not get used to the sensation of it - most particularly, the surrender to the unconscious.  It reminded him uncomfortably of falling again every night and he dreaded that moment of utter defenselessness as his senses slipped away from him.  So he avoided it as much as possible, only resting when absolutely necessary, and rarely in a bed.  He preferred to sleep in a chair; it forced him to sleep lightly and kept him more alert to the things around him.  

Even this level of surrender galled him however, so many nights he could be found in the bunker’s library, pen and paper in hand, transcribing as much of his knowledge as possible.  Perhaps, if he shared his wisdom with Sam and Dean in a way more familiar and easily accessible to them, he would manage to earn a place with them.  

So he wrote, eventually filling up so many notepads that Sam had to clear a shelf for him.  The younger Winchester tried to show Cas how to use a laptop, suggesting perhaps it would be a better way to organize the information Cas wanted to get down, but Cas found he didn’t like the computer.  He preferred the way his fingers clenched a pencil, and the shapes of the letters as they formed across to the page to the sterile, uniform clacking of the keyboard.  And he was overtly aware of his inability to type without painstakingly picking out each letter using only his index fingers.  Besides, he discovered that despite the fall, he maintained a photographic memory and had no problem recalling exactly where he had written down each piece of information.  He hoped this alone might be a small incentive for the Winchesters to keep him around.  Even if it was as a glorified card catalogue.  

His efforts seemed to impress Sam, who would often come to the library the next morning and start reading whatever it was Cas had written the night before, attempting to absorb as much new knowledge as possible.  To his frustration though, Dean seemed not only indifferent to his efforts, but somewhat irritated as well.  Before going to bed each night, he would come to the door of the library where Cas had settled down to write with a small frown on his face that Cas couldn't interpret.  Since he never said anything, Cas kept on at his task.  

One evening, after finishing a particularly long entry on some of the lesser known monsters of Greek mythology, Cas leaned back and stretched, lacing his fingers together and reaching them back over his head, feeling his shoulders pop as he did so.  He winced, still unaccustomed to the shifting and _aging_ of his human body.  

As he glanced around the room, his eyes lit on Dean’s well-worn leather journal.  Standing up, he moved towards the well cared for record and began to flip through it.  He frowned as he noted several mistaken translations along with a few other minor errors.  Cas hesitated.  This journal was Dean’s and something he kept meticulous care of.  However, he was sure Dean would want his information to be as accurate as possible.  Cas knew _he_ wanted Dean’s information to be as accurate as possible, painfully aware he could not live with the idea that Dean might be hurt or worse on a hunt because of a simple mistranslation.  So after only a moment’s pause, Cas sat down with his pen and began to make changes.  

The results were not what he anticipated.  

“ _What_ the _hell_!”  Dean’s shout carried through the entirety of the bunker early the next day.  Both Sam and Castiel came running, Cas cursing his inability to fly to Dean’s side in an instant.  What if the hunter was injured or in danger?  

He realized there were times he could be grateful for his now slower, human speed.  He arrived at the library, where Dean’s shout had emanated, and came face to face with an irate hunter.

“Who’s been screwing with my journal?”

Dean spoke to the room at large, but his eyes zeroed in on Cas.  “Cas? There is no friggin’ way Sam’s dumb enough to touch my journal.”  

Cas flinched, he understood he had violated one of those mysterious social rules others seemed to instinctively know.  Dean’s current anger at Cas’s imprudence seemed to cap off the irritation Cas already felt in each frown Dean had shot him every evening before bed. The pressure now was palpable and Cas stepped back from Dean, feeling as though their old positions were swapped and Dean currently possessed the ability to smite Cas into the farthest, darkest pit of hell.  

“I only corrected a few translation errors, Dean,” he raised his hands in defense as he tried to explain his actions, hoping to placate his friend.  

“There is nothing wrong with my translation, Cas,” Dean growled out low, eyes narrowing in anger.  

Cas felt a flare of irritation at Dean’s stubbornness.  “Dean, I speak all the languages of the world fluently.  I assure you, some of your translations made no sense.  Some were not even translated to proper words.”  

“You might speak all the languages of the world, Cas, but you clearly don’t speak shorthand.  Don’t touch my journal again.”  Twisting on his heel, Dean left the library without a backward glance.  As he went, Cas was sure he heard him muttering something under his breath about “angels” and “God damn rocket scientists,” though Cas was baffled as to how his translations in a hunter’s journal related to the science of rockets.  

As silence filled the room, Cas felt his stomach sink to a low and unfamiliar place.  How had his efforts gone so far wrong?  Now he felt even more useless than before. Worse, he began to suspect perhaps Dean would prefer him to leave.  

Sam, who had wisely stayed quiet, patted him on the shoulder.  “Hey man, don’t sweat it.  He’ll get over it soon enough.” 

Cas hoped so.  If he couldn’t use his intelligence to make himself useful to Dean, he would have to find something else.  And fast.  


	2. So You're Brad Pitt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas decides to try and change his look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Sullivan is Brad Pitt's character in Sleepers. Closest Brad Pitt look I could find to one that would fit this role and I figured Dean would at least get the reference!
> 
> Thanks to Frecklesarechocolate and Tundraeternal for the betas!

Cas’s next inspiration came after a hunt.

He and the Winchesters were sitting in a diner on the way back to the bunker.  They had posed as FBI agents on this case and all three were decked out in full suits.  As the waitress came to take their order, it was clear she appreciated the scenery in front of her.  

“So fellas, what’ll y’all have today?”  They were in Alabama and she spoke in a thick southern drawl.  Dean automatically flashed her his patented mega-watt smile and she shifted slightly closer to him, tucking a strand behind her ear, using it as an excuse to run her hand over her hair.  

Sam rolled his eyes and Cas watched the pair, intrigued.  Part of his curiosity stemmed from the flash of emotion that roiled through his gut.  He couldn’t identify it, but it was decidedly unpleasant.  His first instinct told him that he didn’t trust the young woman and he wondered for a fraction of a second if she could be a demon.  Even in his human state, though, he recognized she was just a normal girl.  He examined her more closely, hoping to discern the reason behind his sudden and intense dislike.  

He supposed she was pleasing to look at.  She was about 5’6, and slender.  Her top fit snuggly over a well proportioned chest and her curly hair was a dark chestnut brown, stopping approximately halfway down her back.  Her eyes were a bright blue.  Yet he still could not pinpoint what it was about her that made him wish he retained the ability to smite.  As he watched her, he failed to notice Dean watching him.  

After the waitress - her name tag read Sallie Lou - left, Sam let out a loud huff of exasperation.  “Dude! Don’t you have a switch or something?”  

Dean smirked at his brother.  “I can’t help that I’m adorable.  You’re just mad because she probably thought you were some overgrown chick with all that hair.”  His grin widened, “Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when my inherent charm got us into the coroner’s office.”

Sam just grunted in disgust.  “Yeah Dean, because I’m the one with the giant crush on Dr. Sexy, M.D.  You’re right, I’m the chick.”

Dean grinned at his brother.  “Damned straight.”

By then, their food had arrived.  Sam dug into his salad with gusto as Dean picked up his burger and turned his attention to Castiel.

“You can be a good hunter if you’ve got skill, but to be a great hunter,” Dean gave him a half grin and wiggled his eyebrows, “you gotta have charm and style.”  His eyes flicked up and down quickly as he took in Cas, still in his standard trench coat, rumpled suit and tie.  Suddenly, Cas was painfully aware he was unable to pull off the smooth and natural look of the Winchesters.  He barely managed to resist the urge to run his hand over the tie he had never learned to put on properly.  It was facing the right way at the moment, but that was only because Dean had insisted on tying it for him this morning, claiming Cas would never pass for an agent if he did it himself.  Cas cringed internally; yet another way he was a burden to Dean.  

Sam, however, looked at his brother and groaned around a mouthful of vegetables.  “Get a room,” he muttered.  Cas frowned.  He didn’t understand that reference, but Dean’s perusal made him feel self conscious and inadequate.  

Dean ignored Sam and continued to address Cas.  Though Castiel had learned over the years to avoid invading Dean’s “personal space,” the hunter was now leaning in far closer to Cas than he normally would.  “See, charm and a pretty face will get you into places even a badge can’t.  Stick around long enough,” Dean paused slightly here and made a point of catching Cas’s eye, “and you might pick up a few tricks.”  

Dean softened what Cas felt sure was a chastisement by winking conspiratorially.  Cas however, nodded seriously, determined to pick up any tips that would make him more useful to Dean on a hunt.  

By the time they were back at the bunker, Cas had formulated his next self-improvement plan.  

After Sam and Dean had gone to bed, Cas began to hunt through the spare closets in some of the unused rooms of the bunker.  He found several suits that appeared to approximate his size.  He couldn’t be sure until he tried them on, of course.  

He wasn’t sure what made him hesitate.  As a human, he knew it was expected he would change clothes.  The truth was though, his garments were familiar and comforting.  As he removed his coat, he felt unbalanced.  He shrugged the feeling aside and continued to change into the first suit.  To his satisfaction, he found that it fit him well.  

He suspected this style might be what Dean would term “old fashioned” considering it had been intended to be worn in the 1960s, but he certainly looked less rumpled.  

He still wasn’t ready to tackle the challenge of a tie, instead, he decided to try doing something with his hair. Dean was constantly commenting on Sam’s hair.  While Castiel rarely thought of how his own looked, he supposed it was an important part of his human appearance.  

Over the years, he had often observed Dean grooming his hair, and knew he used some form of jelly-like substance to ensure it stayed in place.  A quick search of the bathroom successfully yielded the required product.  Cas wasn’t sure how much he would need to accomplish his goal so he scooped a generous amount onto his fingers before running them through his hair.  

In retrospect, he thought perhaps he used a bit too much, but he soon had his hair tamed and slicked down.  The style he followed resembled a man in one of the photographs on the dresser of the empty room.  It was parted along the left side and swept across to the right.  It was saturated with enough gel that it was possible to discern individual tooth strokes from his comb.  

Once his hair was set and seemed assured of staying in place despite its natural penchant to go every which way, Castiel turned his eyes to the tie draped over a nearby chair.  He looked at it warily as though the object might be cursed or possessed.  He didn’t understand how such a simple task continued to elude him even after so many years in this form.  Bracing himself as though for battle, he picked up the narrow strip of fabric and returned to the bathroom mirror.  

His first attempt was a miserable failure.  As were the next ten.  His sixth try was so bad, he momentarily feared he would have to cut it off as he had somehow managed to knot in such a way it took a full thirty minutes to undo.  Eventually, he did succeed, though it was really more by chance than design.  He carefully untied it so he could observe what he had done in reverse before trying again.  To his surprise, it worked.  He re-tied the tie a few more times before he felt confident that he knew what he was doing.  

Exhaustion hit him unexpectedly and he ran a hand unconsciously through his hair as he looked at the clock.  He started in surprise as he noticed it was a little after five am.  He had practiced dressing himself straight through the night.  After this first realization subsided, it was replaced with the knowledge that the hand he ran through his hair was now very sticky.  He frowned at it uncomprehending.  Then he glanced up into the mirror over the bathroom vanity and his shoulders slumped.  His carefully constructed hairstyle had not survived the absent minded actions of his hand.  Thanks to the heavy quantity of gel in his hair, it now stood in sharp, drastic points in every direction.  He stepped into the bathroom and opened a drawer, looking for a comb.  After carefully returning each strand back to its proper place, he slipped the comb into the cuff of his sleeve, sure he would mess up again.  For good measure, he slipped in a small mirror into his breast pocket, just in case.  

Satisfied, he washed his hands and continued to the kitchen to make a batch of coffee.  Despite being fallen for almost two months, Cas still wasn’t used to acquiescing to his body’s need for sleep and preferred the jolt of caffeine as a means of revival.  Soon the smell began to fill the kitchen and filtered into the hall.  It attracted Sam first, who maintained the habit of getting up early each morning for a run.

As he entered the kitchen, Sam drew up short, taking in Cas sitting at the table somewhat stiffly, a little uncomfortable in his new clothes, missing the weight and fall of his familiar coat.  

“Uh, hey Cas.  New look.  Are you planning on going somewhere?”  He tossed a concerned glance over his shoulder as he spoke.

“Good morning, Sam.  No, I’m not going anywhere.”  Cas responded nervously, watching Sam closely to try and gauge his reaction.  “I realized yesterday that I might be able to do more to help on hunts if I tried to look the part more.”

Sam’s face cleared momentarily when Cas confirmed he wasn’t planning on leaving, but then immediately began to crease into a frown as he took in Cas’s full statement.  He opened his mouth to respond when he was stopped by a sudden exclamation from the door.  

“Cas?” came Dean’s voice, laced with surprise and something else Castiel couldn’t quite pinpoint, but based on the expression on Dean’s face, it wasn’t good.  

Cas fidgeted in his seat under Dean’s gaze.  Dean worked his mouth as though he was trying to formulate a coherent response.  Cas wished this conversation was taking place in the afternoon.  Lately, Dean seemed crankier than usual in the mornings, despite his improved mattress. Really, Cas noted glumly, Dean was crankier in the mornings since he had arrived to stay at the bunker.  

Sam seemed to take pity on him - or perhaps Dean, Cas wasn’t quite sure - and jumped in before Dean could properly react.  “Cas is practicing his FBI look, you know, adding _style_.” He gave Dean a significant look.  Cas thought maybe he imagined the slight emphasis on the word “style.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut, a slight frown settling on his face.  “Not sure a slicked back Michael Sullivan was the way to go,” he muttered as he turned to the fridge to pull out eggs to make himself an omelette.

Cas looked down at the table, a feeling of dejection stealing through him.  Perhaps he had done his hair wrong?  He pulled out his mirror to check, missing the sudden smirk and stifled snort of amusement from Sam and the look of stunned astonishment from Dean.

 

* * *

 

Cas’s new look lasted about a week, which was how long it took for Dean, who seemed to be having a particularly careless stretch, managed to spill on or stain each of the suits Cas found to fit him.  The first day had been a cup of coffee.  The second day, Dean tripped and dropped a ketchup-laden burger in his lap.  The third day, he handed Cas a pen that promptly exploded all over him.  The fourth day, he slapped Cas on the back after working on the Impala, effectively leaving an oily handprint.  On the fifth day, he exploded a tracking solution he was helping Cas with by adding the wormwood too soon.  

By day six, Cas had run out of gel and to his frustration, his hair was back to its usual mussy state.  Dean seemed to look at him somewhat less fiercely now though, so that was good at least.  They had started a hunt based on a tip from Garth about a nest of Vampires and Cas was concerned about Dean’s presence considering his streak of bad luck.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to approach Dean about his concerns without the hunter blowing him off, so he went to Sam instead.  

“Sam,” he began that evening after Dean left to pick up some fast food.  Sam looked up in alarm at the serious tone in Cas’ voice.  “I believe Dean may be experiencing the effects of a curse of some sort.”

He saw surprise flit across Sam’s face and wondered how Sam could have missed the signs over the past week.  

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked cautiously.

“He seems to be experiencing unusually bad luck.  I have considered several possibilities; a rabbit’s foot, a broken mirror, or even a witch - though I haven’t found any hex bags.”  Cas did not expect the bark of laughter that exploded from the younger Winchester.  He frowned at Sam in disapproval.  “Sam, I’m serious.  If Dean has something interfering with his ability to hunt, should he be going with us tomorrow?  He could be hurt, or worse.”  The thought of Dean and ‘or worse’ caused the muscles in Cas’ stomach to involuntarily clutch tight.

Sam though, continued to chuckle as he attempted to assure Castiel.  “Don’t worry man, Dean’s not cursed.  He’s just being stupid and childish.”

The man in question walked through the door at that moment, balancing three drinks and four bags of food as he attempted to pull the key from the lock.  Cas rushed over to help and somehow ended up wearing the soda intended for him.  

As he turned to the bathroom to change into his last clean outfit, he heard Sam chortling behind him.  He sincerely hoped Sam was right and Dean would be okay when they finally found the nest.    

 

* * *

 

To Cas’ relief, Sam appeared to be right about Dean the following day.  The hunter was all business as they planned their attack.  In fact, as they neared the nest, Castiel was the one who was more distracted and clumsy than usual.  Castiel was grateful Dean and Sam were allowing him to help on the hunt despite his slowed reflexes and inability to smite anything that might stand between him and the Winchesters.  This loss affected him more than many of the others and tonight, as he worried about whatever it was that was troubling Dean, it became an ill timed distraction.  

As they fought their way through the vampires - it was a large nest, at least fifteen, although Cas never managed to get a complete count - Cas tried his best to keep his eyes on Dean.  The trouble was, this meant his eyes were often not on the vampires around him.  On two separate occasions, either Sam or Dean had to swoop in and gank a vamp that managed to surprise Cas.  

The second time was right near the end of the fight.  Cas found himself backed into a corner, wishing with all his might he had the ability still to make his angel blade appear from thin air.  Sam was fighting another vamp across the room and Cas had _lost sight of Dean_.  Suddenly, Cas found he was no longer on eye level with the vampire in front of him.  Notably because the vampire’s eyes were rolling away across the floor along with his now decapitated head.  Dean stood behind the body as it crumpled to the floor.  Cas felt a surge of relief.   _Dean was all right_.  

The relief was quickly followed by resignation.  He looked down at himself and realized he was now covered in vampire blood.  With no prospect of clean clothes to change into until they reached the bunker.  He sighed.  Looking up, though, he couldn’t feel too upset - Dean was grinning at him in a way he hadn’t in quite some time.  It was probably just the thrill of the hunt, but it warmed Cas from the inside out.  

From the corner, a sudden silence indicated that Sam had managed to finish off the last vampire.  The three men stood in the space, breathing heavily.  There was carnage all around them, but Cas felt for the first time in a while as though he belonged.  It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the strongest of the three of them anymore, he was still part of their team.  

The three headed back to the motel for one more night.  They would set off in the morning for the bunker, about a day’s drive to the west.  Cas grimaced as he sat in the back seat of the Impala.  Not only was his last outfit ruined, he wouldn’t be able to avoid sleeping tonight and he was covered in vampire gore.  This did not promise to be a pleasant experience.  

When they arrived back at the motel, Cas pulled out his room key.  They had booked two rooms.  Since he slept less than the brothers in general, and since Dean had previously made clear he didn’t like to be watched while he slept, Cas had the room next to the Winchesters to himself.  

“Hey, Cas!” Dean called as Cas began to walk away from the car, shoulders slumped in exhaustion.  “C’mere for a sec!”

Cas tilted his head to the side in confusion for a moment before walking back towards Dean as he stood at the open trunk of the Impala.  Dean reached inside and pulled out a bundle and handed it to Cas.  

“Thought you might need these.”  

Cas looked down at the bundle in his hands and recognized his old suit and trench coat.  He looked up at Dean in surprise.  Dean however, just shrugged the gesture off.  “They suit you, man.  Don’t go changing on me now.”  

“Thank you, Dean.”  Cas smiled and turned to change.  Maybe the next time he tried to impress Dean, he wouldn’t have to try so hard.  


	3. So You've Got a Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas asks Dean to teach him to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Tundraeternal for the beta!

Dean seemed to recover from whatever caused his lack of coordination after the vampire hunt.  He also started treating Cas more warmly than he had since before Cas had arrived at the bunker.  The way he had warmed to Cas’s presence when they were still trapped in the nightmare of Purgatory, before Cas had vanished that last time with the angel tablet.  Cas thought maybe he was finally beginning to earn his place in this home the Winchesters made for him.  

There were still times he felt as though he lacked Dean’s trust or approval.  More often than not, mornings in particular were bad.  Dean woke up cranky and ill-rested.  Cas, almost always up and in the kitchen before Dean stumbled from his room, was ready with a fresh pot of coffee waiting for him.  Castiel still frequently chose to sleep in a chair in the library, and then, only when his body absolutely demanded it.  The feeling of falling asleep was often accompanied by nightmares of falling from Heaven and the events leading up to it.  

Some mornings when Dean came down, he threw Cas’s tie a dark look as though it personally offended him, though Cas could not figure out why.  It was the only part of his attempt at a more polished appearance that carried over.  Now that Cas knew how to tie the tie properly, he found no reason to do it incorrectly on purpose.  For some reason though, this detail seemed to irritate Dean to no end, especially if he’d had a particularly sleepless night.

When Cas hesitantly ventured to ask Dean if anything was wrong to make him sleep so poorly, Dean flushed a deep shade of red.  “‘S cold is all,” he muttered under his breath rubbing his hand against his neck and refusing to meet Cas’s eye.  Cas frowned slightly at this response, sure he was missing something.  If Dean was cold, why didn’t he just add an extra blanket to the bed?  There were plenty to be found in the bunker.  Besides, how could the hunter be cold?  They were moving into July now and while the bunker was well equipped with fans, air conditioning had been a luxury in the 60s.  More than once he heard both brothers complain about the excessive warmth.  

As it happened, Dean’s lack of sleep helped Cas to determine his next approach to impressing him.  

The three had just completed a hunt in New Hampshire where they had taken down a shape shifter.  During the fight, Sam had managed to get knocked back against the edge of a desk, jarring his head.  With the exception of a slight headache, he seemed to be fine, but both brothers figured it was likely he had a mild concussion.  Rather than staying the night in a motel, Dean decided he’d rather get on the road and back to the bunker sooner rather than later.  So they started to drive.  

Much to Dean’s chagrin, the sleepless nights were starting to catch up to him.  They barely made it to the Pennsylvania/Ohio border before he conceded he needed to stop for the night.  Cas could see Dean’s frustration.  He knew the hunter would have prefered letting Sam take over and catching some sleep against the passenger window as they’d done so many times in the past.  With Sam’s head injury though, no way was Dean going to pass the control of Baby over to him.  It occurred to Cas that if he knew how to drive, he would be able to assist Dean should such a situation arise again.  

 

* * *

 

Castiel approached Dean with his request the first afternoon after they’d gotten back home.  He purposely waited until after lunch when Dean was most likely to be in a good mood.  

Dean looked up from the Vonnegut he was re-reading for at least the dozenth time in Cas’s recollection.  “You want me to teach you how to drive?” Dean asked in surprise.  “Why do you need to know how to drive?” Dean’s voice seemed to go a little higher at the end of his question and he hesitated slightly before asking, “Are you planning on going somewhere?”

Cas tilted his head to the side, wondering why Sam and Dean both seemed to keep asking him if he was going somewhere.  There was nowhere else in existence he would rather be.  Were they waiting for him to leave?  This thought gave him pause and fueled his desire to make himself an asset rather than a burden.  “No.  I just thought it might be useful to have another person who could drive on extended trips.  Besides, you care a great deal for your car. I wanted to understand why.”  

A huge smile split across Dean’s face and Cas felt his heart stutter at the sight.  He knew he would do quite a bit to keep that smile firmly in place.  

“Sure, man! Yeah, great! Wait...” Dean paused and there was a slight furrow on his forehead.  It looked as though he was concentrating, rather than being upset about something, so Cas simply waited.  “We’ll find another car for you to start on - I don’t want you crashing the Impala on your first trip out.”

Cas nodded.  He understood Dean was protective of his car - he was fine learning on something else.  What mattered to him was the enthusiasm Dean showed his idea.  It gave him hope that this time, maybe he would succeed and manage to fully gain Dean’s affection.  He kept his eyes trained on his friend as Dean thought through the possibilities of how to teach Cas.

“There’s a few cars in the garage I’ve been itching to get under the hood of.  They’ve been sitting untouched for a long time - date back to the sixties,” Dean smirked.  “That was a good decade for cars though so I’m thinking we can get at least one of them running again.”

Cas nodded as though any part of what Dean had said made sense to him.  He was determined to be a good student though.  He would take in everything Dean taught him because it came from Dean.  While Cas only originally thought to learn how to drive a car, he was not opposed to learning how to work on a car either.  It meant spending more time with Dean and something that made Dean happy.  

“When do you want to start?” Dean asked.

Cas could see that now the idea was planted, Dean was as anxious as a kid in a candy store (He had heard Sam use that phrase the other day.  He had yet to observe the behavior of a child when presented with a shop full of confections).  He smiled fondly, which seemed to only brighten the look on Dean’s face.  “I am happy to start anytime you are, Dean.”  

“Great!” Dean stood up from the table quickly, eager to be under the hood of a car.  He looked at Cas and paused again.  “Wait.  First we need to get you something else to wear.”

Cas frowned slightly.  “I thought you prefered it if I wore this?”

“No! No, I do.  I’m not talking permanent change.  But working on a car?  Especially one that hasn’t been touched in almost fifty years, that’s gonna get messy, man.  You want to be wearing something you don’t mind getting dirty.” Dean flushed somewhat at the word ‘dirty.’

“Anyway, don’t worry.  You can borrow some of my stuff.” Dean grabbed Cas’s wrist and pulled him towards his room.  Cas felt the point of contact between them burn and he yearned for more.  

Once in Dean’s room, Dean dropped Cas’s wrist, much to Cas’s disappointment.  He managed to barely stifle a whimper of dissatisfaction as Dean began to rifle through his drawers.  Without looking back at Cas, Dean started tossing jeans and a shirt in his general direction.  Cas caught them reflexively as Dean moved to the closet and found a belt to help hold the pants up on Cas’s slighter frame.  

“Change into those, then meet me back in the kitchen.”  Dean tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed out the door.  

Once it was shut behind him, Cas looked down at the clothes in his hands, missing Dean’s presence in the room.  Cas shook the trench coat off and changed into the clothes Dean lent him.  He had to admit, they were more comfortable and less troublesome than the Men of Letters suits he attempted to wear a few months prior.  And these clothes had the added advantage of smelling like Dean.  

Finished, Cas headed out to find Dean in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a glass of water in his hand, halfway to his lips.  Upon spotting Cas, his hand stopped enroute and Dean’s mouth dropped open slightly.  Cas thought he saw Dean’s pupils dilate slightly as _something_ flashed through them.  The moment was over so quickly however, Cas was sure he was mistaken.  

Dean cleared his throat and pushed himself off the counter, setting the glass down as he did.  “Alright then!” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together gleefully, “Lets go find you a car!”

The garage contained five cars, all varying models from the sixties.  Dean ignored four of them and zeroed in on a white one in the back corner.  His face split open into a huge grin and he opened his arms wide indicating the majesty he saw in the vehicle in front of him.  “Now _this_ is a car Cas.  It’s no Baby.  And I’d never trade Baby for anything.  But man, _this_ car...” Dean broke off shaking his head, unable to continue for a moment.  

Cas looked at the car.  It was white with an extreme elongated front. The windshield rose at about a sixty degree angle from the hood to meet the roof before sloping gradually down the back, ending in a trunk similar in size to the Impala, though slightly shorter.  Red leather seats and carpet lined the interior.  The steering wheel was a stark black contrast.  There were four seats, but the back seats didn’t look like they would be as comfortable as Dean’s car.  While the Impala had four doors, Cas noted this car only had two, which might hamper egress to and from the backseat.      

“[It’s a 1962 Volvo 1800](http://www.here.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/1962-volvo-p1800.jpg).  Well, it’s a Volvo, but until 1963, they contracted out production to Jensen Motors.  It’s what Simon Templar drove in _The Saint_.  This car was an icon.  Roger Moore liked driving it so much, he bought one for himself.”

Cas nodded, trying to take all of this information in because he was sure it was important even though he had no idea who Simon Templar or Roger Moore were and why or how anyone would drive a car inside a particularly pious person.  

Dean pulled on the door handle of the car and slipped inside.  The look on his face was one of pure joy and Cas revelled in the opportunity to witness it.  After fumbling over his head with the sun visor, Dean let out an exuberant shout when a falling jangle signalled the discovery of a set of keys.  He fitted them into the ignition slot and turned.  On the first attempt, there was just a stuttering noise.  On the second attempt, the engine turned over briefly before dying again.  

Dean was unfazed by the setback.  “Don’t worry, Cas.  This thing’s been sittin’ here for fifty years.  At best the gas has evaporated out and it needs oil.  So I’ll start by showing you how to do that.  C’mere.”  He gestured Cas to come closer to the vehicle.  Cas readily complied.  

Dean stepped out of the car and put his hand on the small of Cas’s back to guide him towards the shelves lining the wall.  Cas noted that without the extra layers of a suit jacket and trenchcoat, the feeling of Dean’s hand on his back was intensified and tingled with the electricity of contact.  He had to force himself to concentrate on what Dean was saying rather than that point of connection on his back.  

Dean pointed to an old metal container, removing his hand from Cas as he reached forward to pick it up and place it on the ground between them.  “This is a gas canister.  Since we don’t exactly have an Exxon next door, we make do with what they kept in storage.  I’ve checked these out and refilled a couple myself to make sure there’s enough on hand for Baby.  See this cap here?” Dean knelt down and pointed to an opening at the top of the can.  “You attach the spout to here.”  He demonstrated as Cas knelt next to him.  “Once you have the spout on, you’re ready to put the gas in the car.”  He grabbed Cas’s hand and held it over the handle to indicate Cas should pick up the container.  As he stood up to walk away, Cas had to remind himself again to refocus his thoughts on Dean’s instructions.

Cas lifted the container and turned towards Dean who stood back next to the car waiting for him.  He walked back towards him waiting for the next instruction.  Rather than telling him what to do, Dean opened a small door on the car’s driver side near the trunk.  He guided Cas by the elbow as he fitted the nozzle into the hole of the car.  Despite Dean constantly chastising Cas for not maintaining a personal space boundary, Cas thought Dean chose to stand awfully close as Cas filled the car’s tank.  He supposed it had more to do with Dean wanting to make sure he properly handled the car than a desire to stand near Cas.  He wasn’t going to complain though.  

Once the gas tank was full, Dean moved away, back towards the shelves.  Cas moved with him, yearning to keep a hold on the contact that seemed to form between them.  This time, when Dean stopped by the shelf, Cas stepped up beside him.  Dean had never been comfortable with Cas standing too close and Cas had worked to cultivate the practice of keeping distance between the two of them to make Dean comfortable. Now, he wondered if maybe Dean didn’t need that space anymore. To his satisfaction, Dean didn’t complain; instead he glanced at him and grinned.  

“Now, if you want a car to run forever, you’ve got to treat her right.  You have to get to know her.  Listen to what she needs.  Most people change the oil after a certain number of miles or months.  That’s bull.  If you know your car, if you listen to the engine and what she’s telling you, you’ll know when she needs something - like new oil.  Don’t wait five thousand freakin’ miles.  If she’s telling you she needs it at three, you give it to her.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve slept in Baby.  Me and the Impala, we have what you’d call a profound bond.”  He winked at Cas.  Cas recognized the words he had once used to describe his connection to Dean and wondered if Dean was trying to tell him something.  “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent in and with that car getting to know her.  Sleeping with something can really deepen a connection.” He grinned a bit lasciviously in Cas’s direction.  

Dean had grabbed a bottle of oil, a wrench and a rag and turned back towards the car.  Again, Cas followed closely behind.  This time, Dean popped the hood of the car and positioned Cas in front of him.  “Ok, so first you need to unscrew this cap here.” Dean leaned around Cas to point out the cap in question.  Once Cas complied, Dean pulled back, pulling Cas with him lightly by the hips.  

“Good.  Now, we need to get under her.”  This time it was Cas that flushed as he realized it wasn’t the car he wanted to be under.  Despite that, he followed Dean down to the floor of the garage.  “First, we need to jack the car up, so we can fit.”  Cas watched closely as Dean placed small device under the edge of the car and cranked it until the weight of the car began to lift off of its tires.  Once he finished, Dean pulled two rolling devices towards them.  “These are called creepers.  You lie down on them to make it easier to get under the car.”  He demonstrated and Cas obediently copied him, rolling carefully under the car with the hunter.  

“All right, now we need to drain whatever oil is left in the tank.  This might be messy, so when I open the drain plug, keep your face away from the opening, got it?”

Cas nodded.  “Got it.  Open the plug, avoid the oil.”  

“‘Kay, now, turn the plug counter-clockwise and try to avoid losing the plug.  Finding it again is bitch.  Once we’ve got all the old stuff drained out, we need to replace the filter.  Fortunately, the Men of Letters kept a well stocked garage and we’ve got a couple on hand.”

Dean made Cas do all the work, pointing him in the right direction, occasionally grabbing his hand to guide his actions.  Soon, the filter was replaced and the drain plug screwed back in.  

Dean suddenly rolled out from under the car, flipped, and rolled Cas out behind him.  Grasping the ex-angel by the elbow, Dean pulled him up.  The action pulled Cas flush against his chest.  Dean’s breath seemed to catch in his throat and he grinned at Cas before pulling away.  

“Now we’ve got to add the new oil.”  He handed Cas the bottle he pulled from the shelf earlier.  “Pour this slowly into the opening.  Don’t pour in the whole thing.  I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Dean watched carefully as Cas began to empty the contents of the bottle into the car.  After about a minute, he put a hand on Cas’s shoulder to indicate he should stop.  Cas tilted the bottle back to halt the flow of black liquid.  “Ok, now take this, it’s called a dipstick.  Stick it in and see if we have the right amount of oil in the engine.”  

Cas did as he was told and Dean crowed as he read the marker and discovered they had gotten it spot on.  Cas smiled at Dean’s reaction, thrilled to see him so happy.  

“Ok.  Now, screw the cap back on and let’s see if we can’t get this puppy fired up.”

Dean moved back around to the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition again.  This time, the engine turned over and began a healthy purr.  “ _Yes_!” Dean shouted with glee.  He laughed and looked at Cas.  “Excellent job on your first tune up, man.” He got out of the car and clapped Cas on the back.  

Cas felt a swell of pride at Dean’s words.  

“You ready for your first driving lesson?” Dean asked, smirking at him a little.  

“Yes, I believe so,” Cas answered, confidence boosted by his successes with the gas and the oil.  Besides, he had observed Dean and Sam driving so often over the years, he was sure he would be able to replicate their actions with little difficulty.  

He was mistaken.  Cas found the concept of handling so many different aspects of the car at once distracting.  He couldn’t remember when he was supposed to put his foot on the clutch, or when he was supposed to shift gears.  Then he had to remember to constantly check his mirrors and keep his eye on the speed limit.  And all of this while Dean sat beside him distracting Cas by no more than just _being_.  Every time he laughed or swore, or grabbed the wheel just in time, coming in so close Cas could smell his very essence, it became more necessary for Dean to steer as Cas regained his focus.  

After a few hours, Cas finally managed to successfully go up a hill, maintain a steady speed, and turn a corner.  He had not yet successfully managed to advance forward while stopped on a hill, but Dean assured him he would get it with practice.  Cas only sighed in frustration at his failure.  He also thrilled at the idea of more practice with Dean.  

That night, he thought on all that Dean taught him, going over it in his mind, writing it down in one of the notepads Sam had given him, and committing it to memory so that when they began again, he wouldn’t have to waste time relearning things.  One of the things Dean had told him was that you had to get to know the car.  Get the feel of it.  He had mentioned all the times he’d slept in the Impala and how that had helped him connect with his Baby.  So that’s what Cas did.  

He still largely attempted to avoid sleep as a rule.  He would take books with him to read or to translate, but he spent most nights in the Volvo.  When he could stay awake no longer, fell asleep crouched against the window.  He even began to pick up Dean’s habit of talking to the car - though he only did it when no one else was around - hoping it would help him feel more connected to it.

His days that summer took on a new routine, at least when they weren’t out on a hunt.  They always took the Impala on a hunt because, even though Cas’s driving skills had improved remarkably, Sam, quite frankly, was too tall to fit in what Cas had come to think of as his car.  Most other days though, he spent practicing his driving skills with Dean, eating at the appropriate times, and then completing any necessary research or translations at night with the car.  

As Cas spent more time with the vehicle, Dean seemed to become more distant with the process.  Cas could not figure out why.  He wondered if Dean felt he wasn’t doing enough to treat the car right.  Perhaps he was being careless with the maintenance without realizing it.  He made a mental note to watch for little things he could do to ensure he kept the car in pristine condition.  

 

* * *

 

About a month after Cas had begun driving, Dean suggested they take a road trip, just the two of them to give Cas practice on an interstate.  Dean packed a lunch for them, saying he figured they’d be gone for a long time and didn’t really feel like diner food.  He even packed a homemade pie - something Dean had been working on learning to cook for the past month as a pet side project.  

Dean instructed Cas to head north on 281 until the hit highway 80.  Cas did as he was told, feeling far more confident behind the wheel than he had a month prior.  After about three hours, they arrived at Eugene Mahoney National Park and Dean declared it was time to stop for lunch.  The trip had been quite enjoyable as Dean lectured Cas on the necessity of understanding the value of quality music.  Cas was looking forward to continuing the outing with lunch.  

It had rained in the park the night before, so Dean grabbed the army blanket he stored in the trunk along with the picnic.  The men trudged up a hill, sliding a bit in the mud. Luckily, the sun was bright and high overhead by the time they found the perfect spot, giving the ground a chance to dry out.    

Dean spread out the meal before them, passing things to Cas, fingers brushing occasionally as he did so.  With every touch, Cas felt something twitch in his stomach.  He wanted more than a brush of fingers, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it.  Whether Dean would even want it.  He thought perhaps he was getting somewhere with the driving lessons.  Today for example was more than he could have hoped for.  

The food was good, the pie - peach - was fantastic, and afterwards Cas and Dean took a hike through the woods.  Cas thrilled every time Dean brushed a hand against his back or elbow as they moved over tree roots and around underbrush.  All in all it was a more than pleasant afternoon and Cas mourned when it came time to walk back to the car.  

Cas paused at the car door while Dean loaded everything back into the trunk.  He looked down at his feet and cringed at the amount of mud on his shoes.  This would not help his efforts to keep his car looking pristine.  Sighing, he bent down to untie his shoes.  

Dean came around to his side of the car to watch him, a mixed look of confusion and amazement on his face.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking off my shoes.  You should do the same.  They’re covered with mud and will mess up the carpets.”  

Dean let out a snort of laughter and then stopped.  “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yes, Dean.  I want to treat this car right.  I don’t think she would appreciate mud all over her upholstery.”

Dean took a minute to close his mouth before he pursed his lips, turned his head to the side as he accepted the order and bent down to untie his shoes.  After both Cas and Dean had stored their shoes in the trunk on top of the army blanket, they climbed back into the car to begin their trip home.  

The atmosphere was a bit more subdued than it had been that morning.  Cas attributed it to being late in the day and both of them being tired after their hike.  He couldn’t help noticing the incredulous looks Dean sent him every now and then.  

When they finally arrived back at the bunker, Dean declared he was starving and got out of the car to go inside to cook dinner.  He stopped dead in his tracks and stared when Cas bent down to kiss the car and mutter quietly, “Good job, Baby.  Rest well.”  

During dinner that night, Dean abruptly stood up and said he needed to take care of something real quick.  Cas looked to Sam, confused as Dean hurried from the room, but Sam just shrugged his shoulders in return.  Dean was back in less than five minutes with a satisfied look on his face, but didn’t say anything to either of them.  

 

* * *

 

The next day, Cas and Dean went to begin their regular driving lesson.  When Cas turned the ignition though, nothing happened.  Surprised, he tried again.  Again, nothing.  Helpless, he looked to Dean.  Dean shrugged and got out of a car and popped the hood.  After looking for a few minutes, he slammed the lid shut and shrugged again to Cas.  

“Sorry man, I think she’s given up the ghost.  The engine looks fried.  We must have taken too much out of her on our drive yesterday.”  

Cas felt his face fall.  He had destroyed his car.  This was a connection he was trying to make with Dean and he had failed.  How could Dean expect him to be a valuable asset to him if he couldn’t even manage to take care of the things Dean entrusted him with?

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said consolingly.  “This thing sat for fifty years with no one to look after her.  I bet there’s a ton of stuff on it that needs to be replaced.  The engine looks like it was corroded through and through.  I should have caught the signs the first day when we changed the oil.”

Cas nodded, dejection still sitting heavy in his chest.  

“Hey man, why don’t we take the Impala out to that diner in town that has that amazing apple pie?”

Cas nodded, not really paying attention as he moved towards the black machine parked on the other side of the garage.  

“Cas, heads up.”

Cas looked up just in time to reach into the air and grab the set of keys Dean tossed to him.  “Why don’t you drive? You’ve earned it.”

Cas felt a smile spread across his face as the two men slid into the car and Cas turned the ignition.  Dean settled into the passenger seat and looked over at him fondly.  

And if there was an extra set of spark plugs in the trunk of the Impala, well, Cas would never recognize them anyway.  

 

Cas's Car:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will involve costumes!


	4. Whad'ya Think, You're Elvis or Something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween and Dean takes Cas costume shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be the last chapter, but I've discovered that it now needs to be broken up into at least one more! Wanted to go ahead and post something though so I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks to Tundraeternal for the beta!

As the months passed and summer eased into fall, Cas began to feel more comfortable with his place with the human brothers he now considered family over his celestial brethren.  They had gone nearly a year without a world threatening disaster asking for an unendurable sacrifice from one or all of them.  Cas reflected that in the time he’d known the Winchesters, this was no small achievement.  

There had been standard hunts, but they were just enough to keep the boys sharp and not much more.  Cas was grateful for the reprieve.  It had allowed him the opportunity to settle in amongst the Winchesters and earn their trust without the pressure of destiny forcing them to question motives behind every word and decision.  

Now the three moved in sync with each other, comfortable with the daily quirks of living in each other’s pockets.  Sam and Dean of course had a lifetime of experience compensating for the vagaries of another person.  Cas was grateful for the relative ease with which they included him.  

He had become a more proficient hunter in his human form; more familiar with his limitations and capabilities.  He no longer felt like a liability on a hunt.  More than once, his newly acquired driving skills proved useful on occasions when Sam and Dean were incapable, or simply preferred not to man the wheel.  

So he no longer felt like a burden to the brothers.  He found, however, this did little to lessen his desire to somehow distinguish himself to Dean.  Lately, he felt that while he shared something deeper with Dean, it was often difficult to express.  As a result Cas found he occassionally felt more comfortable in Sam’s presence than Dean's. Dean had told him in the past that he needed Cas.  Cas had discovered he didn’t just want to be needed, he needed to be wanted.  

He loathed the periodic awkwardness he felt around Dean that caused him to withdraw from Dean’s company in confusion when he often desired that company the most.  He also hated the flash of hurt followed by calculated detachment that flitted across Dean’s face when that happened.  

He understood his feelings well enough to recognize that he loved Dean Winchester.  His grace-turned-soul belonged to the hunter alone to do with what he would.  Obtuse though he was about many social norms, he understood that because his body - no longer a vessel - was shaped in the form of a male, there were certain questions about Dean’s acceptance of his regard.  In the time he had known Dean, he had never seen him express interest in anyone other than females.  Did he find Castiel attractive?  Did he feel the same draw towards him as Cas did towards Dean?  Cas feared making his intentions known and making Dean uncomfortable, or worse, losing the connection they already shared.  

The man himself was an enigma.  There were times Cas felt certain Dean went out of his way to include Castiel when it was not strictly necessary.  Castiel hoped this was a gesture meaning Dean desired his company just for the pleasure of it.  He had even begun to show Cas how to work on the Impala.  He took these lessons seriously as he hoped one day to know enough to fix his own car.  When he mentioned this to Dean, Dean’s mood temporarily darkened, however.  And there were mornings where Dean seemed intent on lashing out at Cas, but Cas was at a loss to understand why.  

He watched Dean closely hoping to find something he could use to breach the barrier between where they were now and where he wanted to be.  Dean still chastised him for the intensity of his stares, but Cas recognized the change in tone.  When they had first met all those years ago, Dean’s voice had been laced with irritation.  Now, when he alerted Cas to his habit, Cas heard affection instead.  But was that affection more than friendship?  The mood swings made it almost impossible to tell.  

Ironically, another hindrance to Cas trying to learn how Dean felt about him was Cas’s actual presence at Dean’s side.  

In the years they’d known each other, circumstances often kept them apart - certainly more than Castiel had ever liked.  Once they had forged the first tentative strands of friendship, Cas had always been connected to Dean through prayer.  This had been particularly true during his last separation from the hunter - first by Naomi, then reluctantly, though necessarily, self-imposed by Cas.

When Dean prayed, he was less inhibited than he was face to face.  When Dean prayed, he bared his soul.  There was no hesitation in the way he spoke to Castiel.  And when Dean prayed, there was a direct connection between Dean’s soul and Cas’s grace that gave Cas a greater awareness and understanding of the hunter and what was behind the words.  

When Cas first came to stay at the bunker, he was freshly fallen, stripped of almost all his angel powers.  Prayer, specifically Dean’s prayers, were still able to reach him even when the voices of the celestial host no longer did.  He suspected it was a remnant of the connection forged when his grace wrapped around Dean’s soul to pull it from Perdition.  Now however, Dean had little need to pray.  Cas still occasionally felt Dean reach out, both out of habit and, Cas suspected, an attempt to make sure the former angel had not left again.  The prayers were unconscious though, often little more than stray thoughts.  As Dean became more confident Cas was not going to leave again, those thoughts dwindled and diminished and he was left with only his observations.

Cas still had trouble sleeping.  Unfortunately, most of the library had been translated and he now had very little to do to occupy the evening hours besides thinking about Dean.  So he spent much of the time doing what he considered to be research on Dean.  

Several months prior, Dean had purchased a television for the bunker. Since it wasn’t exactly wired for cable or DSL, he'd also bought a cheap dvd player to go along with it.  He soon developed a habit of buying a new dvd out of the discount bin whenever they made a supply run at Wal-Mart.  As he pointed out, now that he was no longer living out of a duffle, he could stand to have a collection of something besides weapons.  The collection was an eclectic mix of genres from Star Trek, to Westerns and action flicks and just old classics that happened to feature a particular actor, such as Neil Hamilton

On some nights, Cas sat down with these movies after the brothers retired to bed for the night.  He didn’t tell either Winchester what he was doing.  He knew Dean would offer to stay up with him.  While he yearned for the opportunity to spend time with Dean, he also knew Dean still was not sleeping well himself and Cas did not want to impose on him and take away more of his resting hours.  He hoped by watching the films, he would glean new insights into Dean’s personality.  He also suspected it might help him catch some of the many cultural references Dean made in conversation.  More often than not though, he found that watching the movies without Dean to explain the plot to him just left him confused.  He did at least begin to recognize some of the names Dean used in conversation as he frequently saw them on the boxes the DVDs were stored in.  He also came to recognize that while an actor might have a name in real life, he could play many different characters.  He associated this with what he and the Winchesters did on hunts when they needed to blend in, but he had yet to understand the motive for the “actors” to pretend to be someone else on television.  

Ultimately, Cas was no closer to his goal and was feeling increasingly frustrated.  There were moments he wondered if his feelings were returned.  A lingering look, a hand on the shoulder, or the smile Cas noticed Dean saved just for him.  Were these signs Dean also cared for him beyond friendship?  Cas just wished he knew for sure what Dean wanted.  

By late October, the weight of not knowing pressed down on Castiel, often making it difficult for him to concentrate and often dropping him into a funk of discontent.  Dean seemed to sense his melancholy.  One afternoon, he dropped down next to Cas with a huge grin on his face.

“So Cas, do you know what tomorrow is?” He asked with a fiendish glee.  

Castiel frowned in confusion.  “Tuesday?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “The _date_ Cas, what’s tomorrow’s _date_?”

Cas’s brow furrowed in concentration, it had been a while since he had the need to consult a calendar to know the date.  “October 31st?” He asked tentatively.

Dean’s grin widened.  “Exactly.  It’s Halloween!  It’s our first Halloween in the bunker.  And we haven’t gotten wind of a hunt that needs to be taken care of.  So I was thinking we should have our own little party.  We could invite a couple people to join us.  Charlie, Kevin, heck, even Garth.  Whad’ya think?”

Cas looked at Dean dubiously.  He had no idea what might be involved in a Halloween party.  It had been a long time since he had seen Dean this enthused over an idea however, and the sight of the smile on his face thrilled him to the core.  

“All right.  That sounds interesting.  What would we need to do to prepare?”

If possible, Dean’s face lit even brighter, the glow warming Castiel from the inside out.  “Great! I’ll send Sam out to go get stuff from the grocery store.  I’ll do the cooking.  But first...” Dean’s eyes took on a mischievous look - Cas would have called it almost devilish if he didn’t know the Devil personally.  “First, we need _costumes_.  It’s not a Halloween party without costumes after all.  And I _know_ Charlie’s going to come in something amazing and we can’t disappoint if we’re the hosts.”

Cas looked at Dean dubiously.  “Dean, I don’t understand.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “You do know what Halloween is, right?”

“Of course.  It is more modernly known as All Hallow's Eve, the day before All Saints Day, though that appellation was not applied to it until the 8th century by Pope Gregory III who merely hoped to convert the local pagans to Christianity.  It has no bearing whatsoever on true Judeo Christian doctrine.  It is more traditionally Samhain.  I believe the Celticpeople would light bonfires to fend off evil spirits who were said to gain greater access to earth on this day.”

Dean nodded, rolling his eyes at Cas’s textbook description of the holiday.  “Yes, and what _else_ does the lore say those clever Celts did?”

Cas thought through what he knew about the Samhain holiday before his face cleared in understanding.  “Ah.  They often wore costumes to confuse and frighten the spirits.  So this party is in fact a way of defending ourselves against spirits that might pierce the veil tomorrow night?  What type of costume is traditionally most effective at warding off these spirits?  Will we need to prepare weapons?”

Dean snorted.  “No, Cas.  Nowadays, people dress up for _fun_.  Usually in something sexy,” his eyes flickered up and down over Cas for a moment before he winked.  “The party isn’t for protection.  It’s a chance to kick back and relax for a change.  It’s been a light year.  We should celebrate.”  

Cas nodded as he took in this information.  “Where do you suggest we procure these costumes then?”   

Dean hid his face behind his hand in a poor attempt to hide a grin.  “I suggest we _procure_ them by going to the nearest Halloween store.  They’re all over the place this time of year.  We can pick up some decorations too - although considering where we live, I bet we could dig up some authentic stuff too.  Might not be the safest idea though.”  

Cas nodded again, considering some of the things they had found in the bunker.  The Spear of Destiny should most certainly not be on display during a party where drinking would likely be involved.  “When would you like to leave?”

Dean practically vibrated with enthusiasm and Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this excited.  It was refreshing and he would do anything Dean asked if it meant keeping him in this light hearted mood.  “Let’s go now.”

Dean let Cas drive the Impala to the nearest Halloween store, located in a small strip mall about twenty minutes from the bunker.  Since Halloween was the next day, the store was pretty well picked over, but Dean looked satisfied with the remaining selection.  “I’ll go start looking for decorations.  You head over there,” Dean pointed in the far corner of the store lined with racks of costumes - some in plastic bags, some on full hangers - and accessories, “and pick out a couple costumes you think you might like.  Remember.  You’re looking for something _fun_.  This isn’t like a job where you have to blend in.  Sometimes, the crazier the better.”

Cas shot Dean a bewildered look.  How on earth did he expect Cas to know what would be appropriate?  Where did he even begin?

Dean laughed at the look on Cas’s face. “Dude, don’t worry.  You’ll be fine.  It’s not like you’re trying to gank a demon or anything.  Just pick out a couple costumes that you think look interesting.  We can have you try them on when we get home.”  

“Won’t you need a costume too?”

“Nah, I’ve got something back at the bunker already,” Dean assured him with confidence before flashing him another encouraging smile and turning towards the decorations.  Cas thought Dean couldn’t have picked a worse time to find faith in him and his abilities but headed in the direction he was told regardless.  

As he expected, he was overwhelmed by the choices lined up in front of him.  Some of the choices were in clear plastic bags with a picture on the front depicting, he supposed, what was inside.  These seemed to be cheaper than the costumes displayed on full hangers in the corner, although they also appeared to be far inferior in quality.  Cas decided to do as Dean suggested and just grab something that jumped out at him.  Since he had no other system for choosing, he selected a mix of things he thought Dean might like, names he recognized from his late night movie marathons, and one outfit that seemed to fit Dean’s requirement of “standing out” better than most others despite being almost entirely white.  In the end, he had four different costumes in hand by the time Dean rolled up to him with a cart laden with various decorations and supplies.  

“Did you find something?” He asked, his voice rich with curiosity.  

“Yes.  I found a few selections.  Would you like to see them? I’m not sure which one I should choose.”

“Not right now, I want to see them on you.  We’ll get them all and try them on at home.”

“Dean, that seems inefficient.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to decide here rather than taking home additional costumes I won’t use?”

Dean’s eyes darted to the side, nervously.  His eyes were at the level of Cas’s torso and a blush crept along his neck as he responded, “I’m sure we can find some use for them sometime.”  

Cas merely nodded.  He supposed the costumes could be used in future years or might come in handy on a hunt.  He wondered why Dean seemed suddenly uneasy.  Perhaps he realized the extra costumes were not really necessary and simply was too stubborn to admit it.  Cas didn’t mind.  

Cas’s acceptance of Dean’s explanation seemed to put the other man at ease again and the two set off towards the register to make their purchases.  Cas was amazed at some of the things Dean pulled out of the cart.  There were rubber skeletons, styrofoam headstones, a holographic portrait that looked normal from one angle, but haunted from another (Cas was particularly fascinated by this piece and the cashier had to hide her smirk as he kept tilting his head from side to side), a Frankenstein with a spinning head, a fog machine and much more.  Dean even threw down a CD of spooky sounds and a DVD that advertised haunted aquarium scenes.  

“For ambiance,” Dean said shrugging at Castiel’s questioning look.  

Cas reached down and picked up a bag of what looked like white batting.  “What is the purpose of this?” He asked.  

“Those are spiderwebs.  Well, not real spiderwebs obviously.  But when you pull it apart, it gets really thin and you stick it to the walls.  Then you put little plastic spiders on them.  Makes a place look old and spooky.”  

Cas put the spiderweb batting back down on the register’s conveyor belt.  Dean nudged him gently with his shoulder.  “You ok in there, man?  It’s just Halloween stuff, don’t overthink it.  It’s supposed to be _fun_.”  He looked a little worried, as though he was concerned that Cas wasn’t looking forward to the festivities.  

Cas’s heart pinched a bit at the small furrowed lines that appeared on Dean’s forehead.  He kicked himself for casting any kind of shadow on his friend’s excitement.  And Cas was looking forward to the party.  The people they were inviting were those he now counted as friends, if not an extension of his new family.  And he enjoyed broadening his experiences.  He had never attended a party before and was curious as to what it entailed.  He was still a little anxious about the costume portion, but was willing to accept it as part of the overall experience.  So when he responded to Dean, his smile was wide and genuine.  “I’m fine Dean, I’m just trying to understand the significance of all the details.”

Dean snorted.  “Cas.  The only thing you need to understand is that it’s Halloween.  It’s an excuse to be silly and maybe get drunk and just pretend you’re someone else for a night.  It doesn’t _have_ any significance.”

“But it brings you enjoyment right?” Cas asked for clarification.  

“Um, yeah, at least I’m hoping it will.  I’ve never really gotten to celebrate before.  I mean, I took Sammy out once or twice trick or treating when we were kids.  Got a good candy haul, but I spent most of the night watching out for real ghouls and goblins under the costumes.  Spent every Halloween on high alert.  I just want to relax for a change.”

“So the significance is to have fun.”  

Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled at the same time.  “Yeah, if you have to pin a reason to it.”  

By now they had checked out, and loaded the Impala.  Dean drove them back to the bunker and told Cas to go change into the first costume in his bedroom while he unloaded the car.

“Sammy’s not back with the food yet.  I gave him a huge list so it should take a while.  When you’re done, just come on out here.  We’ll have a Halloween fashion show.”

Cas picked up the bag with the costumes and headed back towards Dean’s room.  Once inside, Cas sat the bag on the bed and took a moment to look around.  He loved this room.  It was the outward personification of the soul he cherished more than any other.  From the neatly ordered weapons on the wall to the small picture of Dean’s mother, now lovingly encased in a simple black frame, it spoke volumes on who Dean was as a man, a hunter, a brother, a son and a friend.  Cas took a deep breath in, savoring the sensation of being surrounded by Dean.  

After a moment, he moved back towards the bag, opening it up and pulling the first costume out.  This was a character he did not recognize.  However, it was the one the one that best seemed to fit Dean’s description of silly.  

As he unwrapped it, and pulled it out, he noticed the fabric was a thin white cotton with a high collar.  The pants flared out below the knee and both top and bottom were punctuated with little metal studs to create various patterns.  To his confusion, it also came with a short piece of material that seemed to hang about halfway down his back.  Once he put on the entire ensemble, he walked out into the kitchen area.  Dean’s back was turned to him as he opened a bottle of beer and took a long swig. He turned around mid drink when he heard Cas come in.  

And promptly spewed his beer all over the counter.  

Cas looked at him, nonplussed and embarrassed as Dean choked on the small amount of beer that went down instead of out.

As soon as he could breathe, Dean gasped out, “No capes.” Dean clutched his sides as he wheezed through his laughter.  “Cas, whad’ya think you’re Elvis or something?”

Cas frowned.  “Yes.  That is the name that was on the packaging.  I take it this is not an appropriate costume?  I was unsure who Elvis Presley was.  But it seemed to fit your description of ‘standing out.’”

Dean rubbed his side as he managed to regain control of his laughter.  Reaching up, he wiped moisture from his eyes.  “No, no, you’re right, it does.  I just wasn’t expecting you to pick the King.”  

“Elvis Presley was a king?  This doesn’t look like the clothing typically worn by a member of a royal family.”

Dean laughed again, shaking his head.  “No, no, the King of Rock and Roll.  He created a new genre of music back in the 50s.  You’re wearing Elvis from the early 70s.  He was a cultural icon for two decades.”  

“But this would not be appropriate for the party?” Cas shifted uncomfortably, wishing he was in his normal clothes.  As he did, Dean’s eyes seemed drawn to the deep scooped v-neck of the top that plunged almost to Cas’s naval.  For a moment, Cas thought he saw Dean’s green eyes darken to emerald and the last traces of his laughter stopped.

Dean licked his bottom lip slightly before drawing it in to worry with his teeth.  “No.  We’ll save that one for...later.”  

Cas nodded, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Dean’s mouth.  He turned and moved back towards Dean’s room.  “I’ll go try on the next one then.”  

Once back in the bedroom, Cas contemplated which of the costumes to try on next.  He decided for the next one, he would choose a character he both recognized and fit the description of standing out.  At least, Castiel had never seen humans wearing this type of uniform on a regular basis.  

In reality, this one was much more simple.  The top was a mustard yellow color with a black collar.  The pants were a stretchy black material that felt smooth against his legs.  There was an insignia on the chest of the shirt and two gold stripes along the wrists of both sleeves.  Cas looked at himself in the mirror.  He was slightly less self conscious in this outfit than in the previous.  He tugged down on the top to make sure it was straight before heading out to where Dean was waiting.

Dean was leaning against the counter, a small grin of anticipation in place when Cas walked in.  The grin widened even further, lighting up his eyes in an almost mischievous manner as he took in Cas’s appearance.  

“Well, Cas, I think it’s safe to say you’ve boldly gone where no angel has gone before.”  

Cas shot Dean a tentative smile.  “You said Halloween was a chance to be someone else.  Captain Kirk does have many admirable qualities.”  He hoped Dean would approve of this choice.  He knew it was a vain hope however as Dean eyed him critically.

“You’re right, and Star Trek would go over pretty well with the crowd we have coming.  Charlie especially would get a kick out of it.”

Cas could sense a “but.”

“But I don’t picture you as Kirk.”

Cas felt his face fall.  

“Don’t worry, Cas, that’s not a bad thing.  And it’s not that I think you _can’t_ pull off Star Trek,” he paused slightly, shifting his weight as he eyed Cas up and down in a way that made Cas think Dean might actually _like_ the way the uniform looked on him, before continuing.  “But I think you’d make one hell of a Spock over Kirk.”  

Cas tilted his head to the side as he thought over Dean’s words.  He could see in a way where Dean was coming from.  Spock often seemed confused by the intricacies of human ways.  He didn’t completely agree however as Spock was frequently portrayed as having no emotions.  Cas often felt as though his emotions were constantly threatening to spill over and overwhelm him in his desire to express them.  Particularly where Dean was concerned.

“Besides,” Dean continued, unaware of Cas’s inner contemplation, “You’d look a hell of a lot better in blue than yellow.”  He seemed to blush a bit as he admitted this preference in color. Cas tilted his head again contemplating Dean’s words.  Perhaps after Halloween he would go shopping again for an article of clothing that contained blue.  

For now though, he still had two more costumes to try on.  Heading back once again to the bedroom, Cas knew which one he would try on next.  He really did not want to wear the final costume if he could help it.  But he had recognized the character and it was the cheapest he could find so he had grabbed it anyway.  But Cas hoped Dean would approve of this next option before he had to even open the final package.  

The third costume came with a shirt, a vest and a pair of pants.  It also had a star shaped accessory, which he pinned carefully to his chest, making sure it was straight like they always did in the movies involving this type of outfit.  Again the material felt cheap.  In a way, it made him feel more vulnerable.  He’d become used to more substantial human clothing.  While the fabric of his trenchcoat would do little to protect him from a blade or an attack by a demon or monster, it felt like more of a shield than the thin satiny fabric he wore against his skin now.  

He hesitated before stepping back out into the kitchen again.  This costume did not quite meet the qualifications of standing out that Dean requested earlier, but it was a theme he knew Dean appreciated.  He hoped Dean does not ridicule him quite as much for this choice.  Taking a deep breath, he walked through the doorway.  

The hunter’s eyebrows went up as Cas entered, but Cas couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation, surprise or just appraisal.  

“So, John Wayne, huh?”  Dean grinned a little, but not mockingly, before shaking his head slightly.  

Cas’s shoulders fell.  He failed again.

“That’s a lot better,” Dean began.  “But it’s too _Oklahoma!_ and not enough of the Duke.  Besides, if you really want to do cowboy,” a look flashed through Dean’s eye that again, made Cas think he _would_ like to see Cas as a cowboy again, “we can put something much better together with the clothes we already have.  I still have my western duds from when you sent us back after that pheonix.”    

Cas chose not to respond.  His shoulders slumped a little in disappointment.  This costume would not work.  Which meant he only had one costume to go.  And now that it came down to it, he wasn’t sure he could face Dean wearing it.  

“Are you sure none of these costumes are appropriate Dean?” Cas asked, trying to mask the trepidation in his voice.

Dean looked at him in amusement.  “Don’t worry, we’ll find something.  Besides, you grabbed four didn’t you?”

Cas had actually hoped Dean hadn’t seen how many costumes he’d picked up.  That perhaps he could pretend the final costume did not exist.  But he promised himself when he fell he would not lie to Dean again.  Even a small lie like this.  So miserably, he nodded his head and went back for his final attempt.  

The final costume was in a much smaller package.  There was far less material involved in this than in any of the other previous attempts.  Cas very carefully removed every piece from his cowboy costume, folding it all neatly before approaching the final package.  

He opened it up and held it critically in front of him, trying to make sure he put it on correctly.  It took far too short a time to assemble.  Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle of the door knob and stepped back out towards the kitchen again.  

When he returned, Dean had moved to sit in the chair at the table.  His reaction was unlike any he’d had before.  His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, pupils dilating instantly and dramatically.  When he managed to shut his mouth, he swallowed convulsively, his breathing faster than it had been before.  

“You cannot wear that to the party,” he ground out, voice deep and guttural, resonating with something that wasn’t anger or fear or any other emotion Cas had ever heard in Dean’s voice to bring it that low and wrecked.  

Dean’s eyes traveled over Cas’s body - from his bare torso, marked only with a thin strap of material which crossed over his chest and shoulder down to the spare bit of material that wrapped around his hips and thighs, hanging low enough that the points of his hip bones protruded above the fabric that seemed to attempt to imitate an animal skin of some kind - all the way down to Cas’s bare feet.  Dean shifted again, his legs tightening together slightly and moving his hand in front of his body.  

Cas wasn’t sure how to interpret Dean’s reaction.  He did not seem to find the costume amusing, nor did he seem to particularly disapprove of it.  If anything, Cas might have thought Dean found the costume very attractive.  For the first time, Cas thought perhaps Dean found _him_ attractive.  He felt himself warm both to this idea and Dean’s current appraisal of his costume.  

Still the point remained that Dean forbade him from wearing the costume for the party.  Cas sighed.  He was relieved he would not be wearing the Tarzan costume the next evening - although after seeing Dean’s reaction, he felt a greater confidence in doing so, if only to elicit that reaction again.  He had now tried on all four costumes and had not found something appropriate to wear.  Dean had given him a task and he had failed.  Again.  

Dean seemed to sense Cas’s consternation and managed to break himself out of the trance he had slipped into upon first seeing Cas in the loincloth.  He smiled at Cas, though it was still a little tight with distraction, and his eyes were still a little wider than normal.  

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something.  This place is pretty well stocked.  I bet we can put something together.  Go ahead and,” Dean swallowed visibly, eyes back on Cas’s chest, “and change back into your regular clothes and we’ll go digging through the bunker.  

Cas smiled in relief that Dean didn’t seem to be upset at his inability to find an appropriate costume on his own.  He turned back to change, thrilling at the idea of spending the afternoon with Dean hunting something far more pleasant than a demon.   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Whatever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas takes Charlie's advice and finally manages to impress Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So this fic was only supposed to be four chapters and MAYBE around 8000 words. Oops. Sorry for the wait on the update. As Chuck so wisely said, "Endings are hard!"
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Comments are welcome. 
> 
> Many MANY thanks to FrecklesAreChocolate and Tundraeternal for the betas!

Cas changed out of the Tarzan costume fairly quickly and went back to meet Dean in the kitchen.  Dean practically hummed with excitement as he grabbed Cas’s arm and dragged him down the hall.  They stopped at one of the many large storage rooms within the expanse of the bunker.  Cas wondered idly exactly how large the bunker actually was.  Despite living there for nearly a year, Cas had yet to explore all the rooms.  The area that appeared on the surface was only a small portion of the bunker’s actual space.  There were hallways and rooms that extended well underground.  Sometimes it seemed whenever they needed something new, all they had to do was ask and the bunker provided it.  Sam laughed at this observation and called it a giant Room of Requirement.  Cas could tell Sam was making a reference he didn’t get, but he felt the name was appropriate, even if the bunker consisted of far more than one room.  

So Cas found himself sifting through boxes in the storage room with a hunter by his side and he had faith the bunker would not fail them this time.  The boxes themselves were intriguing.  Though he only opened ones that bore a label indicating they might be useful, he found his fingers itched to dig through many others.  There were boxes of photographs, records and journals of hunters dating back far before the 1960s.  Cas supposed this made sense.  While the bunker had been abandoned in the 60s, the Men of Letters dated back several hundred years.  He wondered that many of these records weren’t kept in the library.  However, the extensive number of them might have precluded the practicality of that.  Besides, it wasn’t as if they weren’t well organized.  

Dean seemed just as fascinated with the process, often getting distracted from their original mission to point out something to Cas he thought the former angel would find particularly interesting.  Despite the dust tickling their noses and settling in a fine film over their hands and clothes, the atmosphere in the room was peaceful and calming.  Cas realized he could be content if he spent every afternoon by Dean’s side looking through the history of Dean’s recently discovered legacy.  

Every now and then, the two men would brush against each other as they moved around the room.  The contact sent a thrill racing through Cas each time and he found himself moving closer to Dean in a half acknowledged attempt to allow such touches to happen more frequently.   As a result, despite the comfortable size of the room, Cas and Dean worked within a small orbit of each other.  He wondered if Dean felt the same electricity and unconsciously sought it out, especially since he did not complain for once about Cas invading his personal space and he made no attempt to move away from Cas.  

If nothing else, he realized with a start, Dean was clearly comfortable in his presence in a way he typically wasn’t with anyone else.  Cas found this revelation both gratifying and soothing.  There were so many examples in their past to point to exactly why Dean should not be this comfortable with Castiel so close to him.  Cas could still remember with sickening clarity the feel of Dean’s bones beneath his hands as he was forced to hit the face he loved more than any other - the face he himself had rebuilt and knit together countless times since their first encounter in Hell.  And while he knew he’d had no control over his actions when under Naomi’s influence, he could also remember another beating in a back alley.  A beating brought on by anger and a sense of betrayal when he realized Dean had chosen to give himself to Michael.  

Cas’s stomach twisted tightly within him and he involuntarily took a step back from Dean as though afraid the memories themselves might lash out and hurt Dean again.  The hunter looked up at Cas in surprise as he sensed the absence beside him.  He was crouched on the ground, hands digging through a box that had potential, bearing the label, “disguises.”

“You all right?”  He asked, looking up at Cas in concern.    
Cas didn’t quite trust himself to speak, so he put a small smile on his face and nodded.  Dean didn’t seem convinced however.

“You sure?  You don’t look so good.”

Dean stood and moved close to Cas, peering intently at his face as though he hoped to find the answer to his question there.  Cas wondered if perhaps he could.  He cleared his throat and smiled more genuinely back in reassurance.  “I’m fine.  There was an abundance of dust particles in the air.  I breathed them in accidentally.”

Dean didn’t look entirely convinced, but let the subject drop as he turned back to the boxes, occasionally shooting a look of suspicion over his shoulder.  Dean’s concern eased the knot in Cas’s stomach and he found he could again enjoy the day.  

He tentatively thought back again to that night in the alley.  That night was the first time he had not only truly feared losing Dean, but realized what that would mean to him.  He had been lost to Dean the first time he saw him in Hell.  He just didn’t realize it until Dean decided to give himself to Michael.  Cas knew then Dean didn’t belong to Michael, he belonged to _Cas_ , body and soul.  The anger he felt that day had been directed at both of them.  Anger at Dean for all the things Cas accused him of at the time, and for the unspoken truth that his choice would take him away from Cas.  Anger directed at himself for not realizing the significance of Dean’s presence in his life until it was nearly too late.  Cas had never felt such raw fear.  

He looked at Dean now, at the relaxed set of his shoulders, and marveled at how far they had come together.  Cas knew he should be satisfied with that.  But he wanted more.  Even before his fall, he’d known he wasn’t complete.  He knew there was a missing piece to him, a rugged shaped hole which could only be filled by a very specific element.  Now that he was human, lacking the distraction of the voices of the host in his head, he felt that missing piece more keenly.  How amazing that Dean Winchester happened to be the exact shape for the missing piece of his essence.  More amazing still was Cas’s current presence at his side with no disaster or threat looming over them more pressing than an appropriate costume to wear.  

Cas really did smile then, born from a feeling of contentment.  He was happy, happy in a way he couldn’t remember being in all of his long existence.  He grabbed another box off the shelf and knelt down next to Dean.  

He realized as he looked in the box that it was filled with various military uniforms.  As he began to cautiously rifle through the carefully folded materials, he thought he might have found something Dean would approve of.  He stopped at a white uniform buried about halfway through the stack.  Cas fingered the wings pinned over the left breast wistfully.  There were very few things he truly missed about being an angel - there were too many things he’d gained in return for his fall to have regrets - but he did feel a distinct nostalgia for the feeling of flying and freedom and the wonders at his wingtips.  

Dean realized he had stopped searching and glanced over.

“Did you find something?” he asked, curiosity threading through his voice.  He leaned in close to Cas, shoulder brushing shoulder.  Cas’s breath hitched to have him so near.  

Dean started to reach into the box, but paused and looked at Cas as though seeking permission.  Cas nodded and moved back slightly to allow Dean better access.  Upon seeing the uniforms inside, Dean reached in a little more cautiously, pulling out the white outfit with something close to a reverence.  He whistled through his teeth in admiration.

“Do you know what this is, Cas?”  When Castiel shook his head, Dean smiled as though happy he had the chance to teach a piece of history to an angel older than humanity. “This is a US Naval uniform from World War II.  A navy pilot’s uniform.  Only the pilots got to wear the wings.  I wonder...,” he trailed off as his attention returned to the box.  He rummaged through the top layers of clothing down to the bottom.  

With a triumphant, “Ah ha!” he pulled out more objects.  Cas looked more closely to realize Dean now held a white hat and a pair of white leather shoes as well.  The look Dean gave Cas was more blinding than the white of fabric in his hands.  “Cas, this is it.  This is _perfect_ ,” he breathed out.  “Actually,” a blush crept slowly up the back of Dean’s neck as he continued, “it’ll be a good match to what I’m wearing too.  Kind of along the same theme.”

Cas liked the idea that he and Dean would be wearing similar costumes.  He felt it connected them in some way.  “Don’t you think I should try it on first to make sure it fits?” Cas asked hesitantly.  He really wanted it to fit.  Cas _knew_ this is what he wanted to wear.  It felt right and it clearly made Dean happy.  

“I’m sure it’ll fit.  But you’re probably right.  Why don’t you go ahead and try it on and I’ll start on the decorations.  Sam should be back by now, so I’ll get him to help.  Unless it doesn’t fit, I don’t want to see it on you yet - I want to be surprised tomorrow.  We’ll show each other our getups at the same time, deal?”

Cas nodded, “Deal.”  He left Dean in the storage room and headed towards Dean’s room to change again.  He supposed he should find a room of his own in the bunker.  Sam and Dean had offered him a room, but Cas had so few possessions, he was content to keep them in a corner of Dean’s room.  Since he preferred to avoid sleeping in general and still hated sleeping in beds, the use of an entire room seemed wasteful to him.  At first, Dean had seemed torn between happy to give him space in his room and upset that Cas didn’t want a room of his own, as though he took it as a sign that Cas wasn’t really planning to stay.  As the months passed however, Dean seemed more content at the arrangement and Cas really saw no need to change it.  

Cas set the clothes down on the bed and began to change, shrugging out of his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.  As he unfolded the uniform in front of him, he noted its previous owner had cared for it well.  It still retained its last measurement of starch and the material was smooth and crisp against his skin.  Unlike the thin materials of the costume store pieces, this was thick, high quality cotton material.  Cas knew this was not intended just as a disguise as some of the boxes indicated.  This was a real piece of clothing worn by a soldier during one of the world’s darkest periods.  A period of death and destruction on a massive scale, but also a period with great sacrifice and heroism on the part of those who sought to take out evil in the world.  Castiel knew evil did not just exist in the monsters and demons he fought with the brothers.  Though he was wearing the uniform to dress up, for _fun_ as Dean put it, he did not honor its previous owner any less.  

As Cas pulled on the pants which still had the center crease intact, he wondered what Dean’s costume would be, especially if it was something related to Cas’s uniform - he couldn’t think of it as a costume.  He thrilled at the feel and weight of the it.  It seemed to fit well, but he resisted looking in the mirror to confirm until he put on the whole outfit.  Once he buttoned the long sleeved coat over the white blouse, Cas sat on the edge of the bed and bent down to pull on the matching white shoes.  The leather was still stiff, much more so than the the dress shoes he had worn for so many years.  Finally, he placed the hat on his head and turned to face the mirror.  

The man who stared back at him was someone he didn’t recognize.  In his normal clothes, Cas’s shoulders slouched forward beneath the weight of his coat, carrying all the things he’d seen and done.  In the uniform of the officer, however, instinct had him standing straight and to attention.  There was a confidence in his posture alone he had not seen in himself in quite some time.  The white of the material set well against the tone of his skin and hair and pulled out the blue of his eyes, drawing attention to his face.  

The cut of the uniform might as well have been tailored for him.  The jacket tucked in slightly at the waist, level with the lowest button, only to subtly flare out again over his hips.  The pants were the perfect length, just brushing the tops of his shoes.  The shoulders, with the lapels indicating the rank of the unknown soldier, fit perfectly square on his frame.  All in all, Castiel was very pleased with what he saw.  He hoped Dean would be too.  

Almost reluctantly, he began to remove the uniform to replace with his regular clothes.  As he did, he noticed a name attached to a label on the interior neck of the jacket.

“Lt. Cmdr. Lloyd Barnard,” Cas whispered.  He vowed he would find out more about the man whose history he would be wearing.  Perhaps Sam could help him with that.  

When Cas returned to the common area which served as the bunker’s living room, he found that Sam was in the adjacent kitchen putting away the various food supplies Dean demanded.  Cas supposed Dean would be spending the majority of the day tomorrow cooking if the amount of food purchased was any indication.  Cas moved to help Sam load the refrigerator and Sam smiled at him gratefully.

“Hey, thanks.  So Dean roped you in on this too, huh?”

Cas squinted against the light as he looked up at the taller man.  He couldn’t tell from Sam’s inflection if he was looking forward to the party or exasperated at his brother for insisting on it.  Perhaps both.  “Yes, it sounds like the evening will be quite enjoyable.”

Sam snorted in response.  “Dean wants a chance to play hostess.  This will be the first party we’ve ever thrown.  I think he might be going a tad overboard.”  

Cas simply hummed in the back of his throat in response.  He wasn’t sure what might be considered going “a tad overboard,” having no frame of reference to judge.  However, if going overboard is what Dean wanted or needed, he didn’t mind getting swept up in the enthusiasm.  

“Sam, I have a request.”  

Sam looked at Cas surprised.  It was rare the ex-angel asked for anything, much less from Sam.  “Sure, what do you need?”

“I would like to investigate the history of a World War II naval officer.  He was a pilot and likely a former Man of Letters.”

Sam’s face revealed his curiosity.  “Huh, what’s his name?”

“Lieutenant Commander Lloyd Barnard,” Cas responded.   

“Any reason you have a particular interest in Barnard?”

Cas hesitated, unsure how to explain the sudden need to understand the history of a man whose clothes he would be borrowing for the evening.  After all, he hadn’t looked into the past owners of the suits he had worn briefly several months ago.  Besides, he wasn’t sure if Dean wanted him to reveal his costume to anyone yet.  He wanted to stick to his policy of not lying to the Winchesters though so he gave an abridged version of the truth.

“I came across the name on some objects I found in a storage room with Dean earlier.  For some reason, I want to know more,” Cas shrugged, unable to explain it further even to himself.  

The explanation was enough to satisfy Sam, however.  It didn’t take much to put the younger Winchester into research mode.  While he might have grumbled in the past about being the only one to attempt to do the leg work over the years, since hunts had been relatively scarce and routine he’d had less of a reason to delve into the mysteries of the supernatural and he found he missed it.  

Cas flashed him a grateful smile.  “Thank you, Sam.”  

They continued to unload the groceries in silence.  When they finished, both wandered out to find Dean and help with whatever he deemed necessary for party preparation.  

The man in question was in the library on a ladder with a string of lights resembling eyeballs draped around his neck loudly singing a Led Zepplin song as he hung them along the edges of a book case.  He looked around as he realized Cas and Sam had entered the room.  

“Figured we could stage the majority of the party in here.  It’s easily big enough to hold everyone and that table will be good to use as a buffet,” he said gesturing as he did so to the large table in the center of the room, currently covered in books.  Sam rolled his eyes at the implied command to clean the books _off_ the table so there would be space for the food - never mind whatever research project he might be working on at the time.  He didn’t complain, however, and began re-filing the books according to a system of his own making.  

Dean smiled down at Cas then.  “ _You_ are going to learn how to hang spiderwebs,” he said, amusement rich in his voice.  Something about the delivery made Castiel think hanging spiderwebs would not be quite as easy as Dean had implied in the store.  

Dean finished hanging the lights and climbed back down the ladder to join him, grabbing one of the bags of batting as he did.  

“Fortunately for us, the walls are either brick or cinder block.  That’s good because this stuff will stick to that really easy.  We won’t need any tape,” Dean explained as he pulled open the plastic bag.  Then he showed Cas how to gently pull at the batting to spread it thin, creating strands as the material separated from itself.  

The process seemed easy enough until Cas tried it on his own.  On his first attempt, he pulled too hard and tore the batting directly in half.  Then he pulled too much and found his hands and shoulders draped in webbing and the ensuing tangle required several minutes to extricate himself.  Eventually, he did get the hang of pulling with the right level of tension.  He also realized Dean was right and the brick and cement walls were ideal to hang the webs.  The brick was especially good because the dark red threw the webs into a much higher contrast, making them visible, especially in low light.  When he finished, he artfully placed the little plastic spiders that also came in the bag all over the webs until it looked as though they had an infestation of arachnids.    

Soon the bunker was decorated.  Cas found himself growing more excited about the following evening.  The day had been particularly good.  It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to spend that much uninterrupted time with Dean, and he already treasured the memory of the relaxed day.

When the brothers decided it was time to turn in for bed, Dean let Sam go ahead of him and paused in the doorway, turning to Cas as though he wanted to ask him something.  He opened his mouth and Castiel watched him expectantly.  Soon, though he closed it again, a small frown settling on his face.

“Never mind,” he muttered under his breath and turned to go.

“Dean,” Cas asked, unsettled that such a good day could end with Dean frowning at him, “Did you need something?”

Dean’s frown vanished as he looked at Cas, but his eyes were still sad.  Cas yearned to make that sadness vanish, he just didn’t know _how_.  

“No, Cas.  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  With that, Dean turned and headed towards his room, leaving Cas with troubled thoughts.  

 

* * *

 

The next day was a flurry of activity as Sam, Dean and Cas worked to get ready for the party.  All things considered, they didn’t have a whole lot of people coming, but since the invitees consisted of almost everyone they still counted among their friends, Dean at least was determined to make an impression.  Cas was determined to do anything in his power to keep the wistful look from the night before off Dean’s face.  

He spent most of the day in the kitchen trying to help Dean by doing whatever needed doing to keep the preparations moving along.  He chopped vegetables, washed dishes and measured out wet and dry ingredients on command.  Cas was amazed at a lot of the food Dean produced.  It didn’t look like normal food at all.  There was a cheese ball formed into the shape of a goblin head, complete with eyes, nose and hair, fried pickles with bell pepper pieces forming fingernails that Dean called “witches fingers,” deviled eggs made to look like eyeballs, applesauce dyed red with chunks to represent guts, burger patties with halved onion rings sticking out the sides to resemble spiders, and cupcake holders filled with crushed oreos and little plastic gravestones.  Perhaps the food that most confused Cas were the little hotdogs wrapped in bread.  Sam called them pigs in a blanket, but Dean said they were supposed to be mummies.  Cas was unsure how a product apparently produced from a canine (though it resembled no part of a canine that he could identify), but called a pig, could then be made to impersonate an ancient dead Egyptian.  He did admit they were delicious however.  

Dean also instructed Cas on how to make the various drinks that needed to be assembled.  Most of the drinks were frozen and involved liquor of some kind, but since Krissy and her friends were coming too, they made sure to have the punch in the main bowl alcohol-free.  Though they held off on it until right before the party started, the main punch was placed in a large stone summoning cauldron and included dry ice, which gave the beverage an impressive smokey effect.  

Soon it was time to change into their costumes.  Sam was not amused to discover what Dean had picked out for him.  Dean just laughed and responded, “Sorry man, there wasn’t a whole lot of selection in size moose.”

So it was with a scowl that appropriately highlighted the theme that Sam donned a pair of short red horns, a pointed tail and a plastic pitchfork.  

Cas retreated to one of the bathrooms to change into his uniform, wanting to delay the moment when he and Dean would reveal themselves to each other.  Once he was dressed, he smiled at his reflection and reverently touched the wings on his chest.  During the day, Sam had pulled him aside to let him know the little he had managed to find out about Lt. Cmdr Barnard.  It turned out the man had been an ace fighter pilot during World War II, fighting in the Pacific.  After the war, he was recruited to be one of the original members of an elite squad of pilots who performed aerial stunts known as the Blue Angels.  It was fitting, Castiel thought, that he should be wearing the uniform of an angel once again.  

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall leading to Dean’s room.  He rapped on the door twice and heard Dean call from within, “It’s open!”

Cautiously, Cas opened the door.  Dean was standing by the floor length mirror on the far side of the room.  When he turned towards Cas, time skipped forward ensuring Cas’s heart and breath both missed a beat.  He couldn’t take his eyes from Dean.  

He, too, was dressed as a military officer.  Dean’s uniform, however, was a khaki colored jacket and pant and the insignia on the rank was slightly different as well.  Like Cas’s uniform, it fit him perfectly, outlining his toned, muscular form magnificently.  Based on the cut, Castiel assumed the uniform was likely from the same time period as the one he wore.  However, he wasn’t sure what the difference in color signified.  

For his part, Dean too seemed just as stunned to silence at the sight of Cas.  He let out a slow whistle as he looked Cas up and down, clearly appreciating what he saw.  Dean looked too awed to properly smile in response, but Cas could tell he most certainly approved.  

Cas managed to smile, tearing his eyes from Dean’s uniform and moving up to his face.  In a way, this did not improve Cas’s sudden tendency towards distraction as he discovered the khaki uniform set off the freckles in Dean’s face more dramatically than Cas had ever seen them.  

“I see what you mean about the matching theme,” Cas managed, his voice catching slightly in his suddenly dry throat.

Dean nodded.  “Army, Colonel,” he replied succinctly, evidently unable to say much more.  Then suddenly, with awe in his eyes and voice, “Wow Cas, you look great.  I’m really glad none of those store bought things worked.  This is _perfect_.”  

Cas couldn’t agree more and warmed from the inside out as he moved with Dean out the door.  It was with a great deal of self restraint that he followed the hunter into the living room when all he wanted to do was grab Dean by the edges of his jacket and push him against the door to kiss him silly and to claim him.  

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before guests began to arrive.  

Predictably, Kevin and Linda Tran arrived first - actually about twenty minutes early -  looking far more relaxed than the last time Castiel had seen them.  He was glad the work with the tablets was done and Kevin was at least, for the moment, getting the opportunity to live a normal life outside his role of being a prophet.  Kevin was dressed in a tux and carried the bow to an instrument.  When Sam asked him what he was supposed to be, he explained he was a concert cellist but hadn’t wanted to drag his cello along.

Mrs. Tran wore a close fitting black one piece suit with knee high black heels and a small pair of pointed black ears on her head.  Dean looked torn between laughing, admiration and trying hard not to eye her up and down appreciatively.  Cas experienced some gratification that Dean didn’t try so hard to keep from doing the same to him.  He had sensed the hunter’s eyes on him several times as they put together the last minute preparations and Cas felt his confidence growing that maybe, _maybe_ , Dean shared at least an inkling of the same feelings he did.  

Garth arrived next, wearing what looked like a white sheet over his head with holes cut out at eye level.  Dean stopped short when he pulled open the door to see him.  He had not needed to ask who was under the sheet.  Cas wasn’t sure exactly what Garth was supposed to be representing, but as it seemed obvious to everyone else present - it involved a lot of only semi-subtle eye rolling - he didn’t feel comfortable asking.  

Krissy and her friends caused a bit of commotion when they arrived.  In truth, it was really Dean who caused the commotion.  When he saw their costumes, he scowled more fiercely than Cas had ever seen Dean scowl at the girl he had taken under his wing.  

“You are not coming into to my home wearing _that,_ ” Dean practically snarled.  

Krissy rolled her eyes in exasperation.  “Don’t be unreasonable.  This is a perfectly acceptable costume.  We are making a statement on the ridiculousness and naivete of society.”

“Sure.  And the fact that you find that moronic idiot hot for some reason has nothing to do with it.”

Cas was again lost.  Krissy seemed to be dressed in her normal clothing.  Cas might have understood Dean’s concern if she had been wearing something he might consider too revealing, but that didn’t seem to be the case.  The only change to her appearance seemed to be in artificial contacts that made her eyes turn red - the other two wore similar contacts which were gold in color - and an application of glitter to the visible surfaces of her skin.  

“Look, you can either let us in, or we’ll go find a more accepting party elsewhere.  Who knows what kind of trouble we could get into on Halloween night.”  

Krissy knew how to push Dean’s buttons like know one else and Cas watched as he growled and opened the door further to let in the offending trio.  

Since it was his first party, Cas had no frame of reference to judge its success, but he quickly found himself enjoying both the atmosphere and the company.  It was rare that they had the opportunity to hang out with this extended family of theirs without the threat of death, destruction and the potential end of the world hanging over their heads.  And Cas did consider them his extended family too.  

He was talking to Kevin about the intricacies and origins of the different world languages, trying hard not to let his eyes flick to Dean in his army uniform every few seconds, when Charlie finally arrived.  

She came in wearing what looked like a schoolgirl outfit with a black robe. She had a wand in one hand and was wearing a red and gold tie.  Dean smiled warmly and pulled her into a hug of deep brotherly affection.  

“Welcome, Hermione?” Dean asked with a fond smile.

Charlie let out a dramatic sigh.  “I don’t have the hair to pull off Hermione so I’m Ginny tonight.  She’s another kick-ass girl though, so I can’t complain too much.”

Cas didn’t know who Ginny or Hermione were, but he felt a swelling of affection for the red-head.  Charlie was good for Dean.  She was the little sister he’d always deserved.  With Krissy, Aidan and Josephine, he was almost a surrogate uncle, but to Charlie, there was an affection and comfort Cas had never seen Dean display, not even with Sam.  The two connected on a level Cas knew Dean needed.  Twice in the past year, Dean had gone LARPing with Charlie - even attending a convention of some kind in California.  The excitement on Dean’s face when he did this seemed to peel away ten years of pain and heartache to reveal a much younger man who still remembered the value of playing, even if he’d never had much opportunity to do so as a child.

While he wished he could provide Dean with all of that, Cas recognized his own limitations in terms of understanding the difference between seriousness and levity and he didn’t want to hold Dean back. He deserved a chance to be completely unfettered.  Additionally, Charlie gave Dean an ear to listen.  Cas knew there were some things he needed to work out about Dean separate from the hunter, Dean probably needed the same opportunity away from him.  

Once Dean let go of Charlie, Cas came in for his own hug.  Charlie started to reach out her arms to him and then seemed to take Dean and Cas in together for the first time.  Her eyes widened slightly before her smile broadened and she drew him in for a warm embrace.  

“You guys look _awesome_.  Where did you get the gear?”  She gasped and turned to Dean, “You guys could _totally_ pull off a reenactment.  We should see if there are any in the area soon.”  

Dean grinned, “Thanks Charlie.  We found them in storage here in the bunker.  There’s a lot of old stuff hanging around.  Seemed a shame not to use it.”  He glanced towards Cas again and his eyes flickered up and down as his face brightened.  Cas saw Charlie’s eyes narrow slightly with suspicion and no small level of calculation as her glance darted between him and Dean.  Cas blushed slightly, wondering what she was seeing.  She seemed content to wait for the answers to whatever it was she was looking for however as she moved off to greet Sam and everyone else in the bunker.  

Cas watched her go with a sudden pang.  As her bright red hair bobbed through their small group of people, Castiel was reminded of Anna.  Cas recognized Anna’s drive for life, to experience the best and brightest of humanity in Charlie.  Since she had first met the Winchesters, Charlie’s life had been turned upside down multiple times.  Through it all, she never lost her positive attitude or her faith in humanity.  That was a rare quality - for human or angel.  

Cas turned back to Dean only to discover the hunter’s eyes were still on him.  In the split second before Dean realized Cas’s eyes had met his own, he thought he detected a haunting sadness in the gaze.  Its origin puzzled Cas - particularly on a night when they were surrounded by everyone they cared about.  It almost seemed as though despite the crowd, Dean seemed _lonely._  

The look was gone almost immediately however and Dean smiled and grabbed Cas’s arm.  “Come on - Charlie sent over a drink recipe ahead of time she wanted me to try.  Now that she’s here, let’s go mix it up together,” he urged, his voice laced with cheerfulness.  If Dean was lonely, he was masking it well.  

Cas let himself be pulled along.  “Why didn’t you make it earlier with the other drinks?” Cas asked.  

“It’s a specialty drink.  It involves hot liquid over ice cream and so it can’t sit out and still give the same effect,” Dean explained.  They walked into the kitchen and Dean begins to rummage in the freezer.  Cas took a moment to admire the way the army uniform framed Dean from behind.

“Can you look in the pantry and pull out the sparkling cider and butter rum?” Dean asked over his shoulder.  Cas moved to comply, finding the requested items and glad to have an excuse to move closer to Dean’s side.

“So what are we making, exactly?” Cas asked, curiously.  He wondered what Charlie might have specifically requested.  

Dean answered as he pulls out two pots from the cupboard, “Butterbeer.  It’s a drink from the Harry Potter books.  That’s where her costume is from.  It’s a fictional drink, but loads of websites and cookbooks have come up with recipes for it anyway.  We’re gonna make two versions so the kids can have some too.”  

Cas smiled, Krissy and her friends were in their upper teens; he knew Dean had started drinking at a much younger age. Cas had also observed how rarely Dean drank since he’d returned from Purgatory.  While he might sip at an alcoholic version of the drink Cas suspected he would find Dean drinking the less potent version before the end of the night.  

“I made the ice cream part already.  It’s vanilla ice cream, but it also has butter, nutmeg, cinnamon and some other spices mixed in.  We’ll heat up the cider and rum and pour it over top.  Since the cider is carbonated, it will make the ice cream foam and look like beer.”  

Cas nodded.  While he might not understand the character reference behind the drink, he understood the science that made the drink interesting.  He had also discovered a soft spot for butter so he was looking forward to trying it.  Of course, he would look forward to trying anything Dean made.  

Dean reached across the counter to grab one of the pots, his hand brushing along Castiel’s as he did.  Cas felt the sensation of goosebumps chase up his arm as Dean continued to work, seemingly unaffected.  As they worked though, Dean managed to bump into or brush against Cas casually or accidentally several more times before they managed to get all the glasses filled with ice cream and topped off with the warm drinks.  The contrasting temperatures created an effect not unlike the dry ice, giving them a smoky appearance as well.  

Dean loaded the drinks on two trays, giving Cas one to carry into the library before picking up his own.  Cas followed, torn between being sad that his moment alone with Dean was over, but happy to return to the energy of the party.  

Charlie’s face lit up when she saw the drinks, literally bouncing up and down with excitement before grabbing her glass and taking a deep sip.  She closed her eyes in exaggerated happiness and smacked her lips together in appreciation.  “Thank you, Dean.  You’re amazing.”  She turned to Cas, “Wouldn’t you agree, Cas?”

Cas was caught off-guard at the question.  He observed the amusement lurking behind Charlie’s eyes and wondered what she was planning.  “Yes,” he answered slowly, unsure if he was being led into a trap of some kind, “Dean does often inspire awe in me.”  

Charlie seemed satisfied with his answer and smiled as she continued to sip her drink.  Cas stole a glance at Dean and saw a slightly stunned, but decidedly happy look on his face.  Cas wondered how often he had actually spoken his admiration for Dean out loud.  It filled every crevice of his being and he often thought it must surely leak out of him the way his grace would in the past if he were hurt or pushed beyond the endurance of his vessel.  How could it not be obvious to anyone around Cas how devoted he was to Dean?  How his whole world revolved around him because he had chosen to make Dean its center?

Several hours later, everyone was still having a great time.  The food selection was pretty well demolished.  Cas suspected Garth of single-handedly taking down the goblin head cheese ball as though it was a real monster that needed ganking.  At some point in the evening, Sam managed to find buried in yet another storage room a large cello, which he placed in front of Kevin.  After a few minutes fiddling with the tuning pegs, Kevin grinned and rolled up his sleeves.  To the surprise and delight of the crowd, the sounds of Kansas filled the air rather than the expected classical notes.  

Kevin moved straight into several other songs and Dean and Sam lifted the table out of the way to allow space for dancing - whether the songs were intended to be danced to or not.  Dean did a solo rendition dance to _Eye of the Tiger_ that had the whole room in stitches.  Cas watched from the side of the room, not really comfortable enough with the concept of this free form of dancing to join in.  He enjoyed watching the others too much to be upset by this though.  

After a while, Dean took pity on Kevin and brought the record player from his room with a few of his albums.  The first album cover he pulled out was one Cas didn’t recognize and he wondered if it was another bunker find.  Dean shot him a wicked look as he put the needle on the vinyl.  He walked deliberately over to Cas and grabbed his wrist to force him out into the center of the room, ignoring Cas’s protests.  

The first sounds that filled the room from the album were a creepy laugh, sounds of electricity and then a distinctive creaking door, bubbling and clanking of chains.  Everyone but Cas let out an appreciative shout and started laughing.  As the percussion started, they began moving.  

_I was working in the lab, late one night, when my eyes beheld an eerie sight..._

Castiel supposed the song was well known as everyone in the room began singing along with the lyrics.  He had to admit the lyrics seemed appropriate for the evening, though he doubted anyone in this room would invite a wolfman to a party.  Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed at Cas’s confused look.  

“Don’t think about it so much, Cas, just find the beat and move your hips a little.  When you’ve got that down, try and move your shoulders a bit.”

Cas did as he was instructed and, before long, found the rhythm.  Soon, he was laughing along with everyone else, particularly when Garth began to take on the role of Maurie the host, narrating the party with an exaggerated seriousness.  By the time the song ended, he was breathless - a status not helped by the sudden brush of Dean’s hand on the small of his back as he guided him back to the edge of the room.

“Come on,” he said, leaning close to Cas’s ear.  “Let’s go grab a drink real quick.”  Cas shivered at the nearness of Dean’s voice, despite having built up a fine sweat while dancing in full uniform.  Dean dipped them both a drink and leaned back against the table with a contented look on his face.  

“You know, Cas, this is kinda almost everything I’ve ever wanted,” Dean sighed.  The sound was both happy and sad at the same time.   

Cas yearned to ask what the “almost” was.  What could be added to this scene to complete Dean’s picture of perfection?  Was it something he could give?  Cas doubted it and suddenly felt inadequate, a brief moment of unhappiness in this otherwise perfect evening.  

Suddenly, Sam called for his brother from across the room.  Dean laughed and pushed off the table to see what he wanted.  Within seconds, Charlie filled the space Dean had vacated, leaning against the table, almost perfectly mirroring the position Dean held only a moment ago.  

“So, Cas,” she looked at him knowingly.  

Cas gave her a bewildered look, unsure of why she looked so smug and whether or not he should be concerned.  

“I see you and Dean chose themed costumes tonight,” she began casually, though her tone indicated she was bursting to get at her real point.  

“It was a coincidence.  Dean already had his costume picked out.  I tried to find something at the Halloween store, but failed.”  The sting of his latest failure must have shown on his face because Charlie raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Dude, epically awesome failure.  This is so much more you than some cheap costume store knock-off.”  She looked at him shrewdly.

“You said Dean already had his outfit picked out?” When Castiel affirmed this, Charlie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in thought.  “And who took you to that particular storage room to find something else?”

Castiel looked at her in surprise.  “Dean, of course.”  

“Mhmm.  Just as I thought.  Themed costumes.”  She grinned and crossed her arms over her chest, looking back out over the party.  Castiel just watched her in confusion, his head tilted to the side.  

“I don’t understand, is that significant?”

Charlie shot him a surprised look, her lips parted slightly open.  For a moment, she looked a little worried.  

“Usually, at a party like this, couples will come in a themed costume.  Sometimes it’s a famous couple, like Romeo and Juliet.  You and Dean are both in World War II military uniforms.  Not a super romantic theme - _hot_ \- but not lovey dovey.  But then, there’s no rule that says you have to be lovey dovey.  Actually, I prefer themed costumes that aren’t.”  Charlie suddenly snapped her mouth shut when she realized she had started to babble, her words picking up speed as she progressed.

By then Cas was really confused.  Because it was just a coincidence he and Dean were in military uniforms.  They had not picked them out together, he had not even known what Dean’s costume was until they dressed for the party.  But Dean knew.  

Cas felt a flare of hope in his chest followed by a flash of panic for even momentarily entertaining the thought.  Surely Charlie was mistaken.  

Charlie watched in alarm as a myriad of  expressions skittered across his face.  

“Come on, Cas, let’s go somewhere a little more private.”  She hooked her arm through his elbow and guided him out into the empty common room.  She pushed him down into an overstuffed armchair that had seen better days and sat down on the couch opposite him.  

“Ok, Mr. Angel of the Lord.  Spill.  What’s wrong?”

And it was as though Cas had been waiting for months for someone to ask.  To explain what he’d been trying to do for the past year.  To confess out loud how he felt about Dean.  To admit the true shame of all his failures over the course of his mission to impress his friend.  How now he at least recognized he was not a burden on Dean because he could survive on his own if he had to now.  But that he knew he could not do anything or provide anything that would improve on Dean’s life.  That while Dean had said in the past he had needed Cas, that was Angel Cas, not Human Cas.  Dean needed his ability to heal, to travel quickly, to smite a room full of demons when they were overwhelmed.  Human Cas was not only unable to provide any of these things, he was also weaker and slower.  That now Cas knew he was no longer needed, he understood what it was to be _wanted_.  The way he wanted Dean.

He told her about trying to make himself indispensable.  First by helping with Dean’s translations, but messing up entirely.  By trying to update the way he looked to help fit in on hunts.  By trying to learn how to drive and take care of a car, but he’d still managed to break the car despite all his best efforts.  How no matter what he did, Dean still seemed to go into periods where it felt like he was angry at Cas and didn’t want him around.  How Cas couldn’t seem to understand or interpret Dean’s mood swings.  

By the time Castiel finished explaining everything, he realized he was shaking, and that thirty minutes had passed.  Charlie, to her credit, just let him talk himself out, recognizing he didn’t have anyone else to listen.  Cas hadn’t realized how much he needed the release until just then.  

Rather than judging him on all his past wrongs, Charlie simply looked at him.  “Cas, can I ask you a question?”  

Miserable, the thrill of the evening gone in the sudden onslaught of emotion, Cas nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

“If you were to strip away everything.  If you could tell me in just one word.  What is it that _you_ want?  Not what you think someone else wants.  What do _you_ want?”

Cas didn’t hesitate.  He didn’t blink.  He didn’t even need to think about his answer.  “Dean.”

Charlie smiled like a cat who’d caught a canary.  

“Then let me give you some advice.  One.  Stop trying so hard to impress Dean.  I promise you, he doesn’t need it.  Two.  You should _never_ try to change yourself to suit someone else.  If that person doesn’t like you for exactly who you are, they’re the wrong person.  End of story.  Three.  Be willing to take a risk to get what _you_ want rather than waiting for someone else to try and take what they want.  You’ll both just end up waiting for a really long time.  And finally,” her eyes took on a mischievous sparkle, “you should ask Dean how spark plugs work and if he has an extra set in the trunk of the Impala.”  

With that, she smiled, got up and leaned over to kiss Castiel on the cheek before turning and heading back into the main room of the party, leaving Cas to mull over her words.  What she said made sense.  And Dean himself had told Castiel before not to change.  Did he really just need to be himself?  Would that be enough for Dean?  And did he have the courage to take a risk?  To ask for what he wanted?  To ask for Dean?  He had no idea what she meant about spark plugs, but he filed that away for later.  He supposed since she’d told him to ask Dean about it, she didn’t expect him to know the answer to that one on his own.  

Nerves jumping in his chest, stomach, and even fingers, Cas took several steadying breaths before he felt ready to return to the party.  He decided on a course of action.  Strangely enough, that alone seemed to bring a calm to him like he had never experienced when thinking about Dean before.  It was as though he knew one way or another, he would find out whether he would receive the world or see it fall away from him.  His own personal apocalypse was upon him.  He was standing in Stull, ready to jump into the pit.  Would it be Paradise or Hell?

If it was Hell, he could always move in with Charlie, he thought wryly.  After all, she was responsible for giving him that final push.

Cas straightened up, tugged at the hem of his white jacket, determined yet again to honor the soldier who came before him by finding the courage to do what needed to be done.  Smiling at the comparison of confronting Dean to a battle, Cas walked back into the library.

Dean’s eyes zeroed in on him at once, giving him a questioning look as though to ask where Cas had gone.  Castiel just smiled in return, sending reassurance that he was fine.  Dean nodded and refocused on his conversation with Krissy.  Castiel did not miss how Dean’s eyes constantly monitored the distance between Krissy and Aidan, narrowing slightly if Aidan came any closer than his liking.  Castiel’s smile widened as he realized Aidan seemed to unconsciously retreat every time Dean did this.  It suddenly struck Cas what an amazing father Dean would be.  

Slowly but surely, the party began to wind down.  Since it was so late and most of the guests had traveled some distance to get there, Sam ushered them all to various rooms in the bunker they had set up as temporary guest spaces.  Charlie hung back to help Dean and Cas clear away some of the trash and move the remnants of the food and dishes into the kitchen.  As she and Cas made a trip together, she looked up at him expectantly.

“So?  Did you make any decisions?”

Cas smiled, “Yes.  Thank you for your advice.  And thank you for helping clean up as well.  I think Dean and I can handle the washing up - could you let Sam know he doesn’t need to come back to help?”  

Charlie shot him a knowing grin.  “Way to go, Angel Boy.  I’ll make sure Sam stays out of your way.”  She deposited the dishes she was holding into the sink and gave Castiel’s upper arm an encouraging squeeze.  “Good luck!”

With that, she was off down the guest hallway, ostensibly to cut off Sam before he could interrupt and stymie Cas’s plan.  Cas wiped his hands on the sides of his pants.  Now that the moment was here, his nerves were ratcheting up again and the palms of his hands had become sweaty as a result.  

Just then, Dean walked in, arms loaded with dirty dishes.  Cas found the juxtaposition of the domestic chore with the clean lines of the military uniform only served to magnify Dean’s beauty.  Steeling himself for whatever would come next, Cas divested Dean of the dishes, placing them on the counter behind him.  

Suddenly, he spun, catching the hunter off guard, pressing him against the wall and fusing Dean’s mouth to his.  His hands instinctively reached up to cup and cherish Dean’s face, the fingers of his right hand trailing down to settle along the base of Dean’s neck, gently urging him forward.  At first, Cas was terrified because Dean did not respond back.  

Then suddenly, Dean’s brain seemed to catch up to what had happened.  His arms came up and around Cas, pulling the former angel tightly to him.  His tongue swiped at Cas’s mouth, seeking entrance and Cas mewled a sound of pleasure as he complied with Dean’s request.  

After a few moments, they pulled apart, both men gasping for air.  Dean leaned his head against Cas’s and whispered, “Thank God.”  His hands slipped down to Cas’s waist and pulled him in closer so he could bury his face in Cas’s shoulder.  “God, Cas, I’ve waited so long for this.  I’ve wanted this so badly.  I’ve never known how to ask for it.”  

Cas chuckled against Dean’s shoulder.  Dean pulled back to eye him with a hurt frown on his face.  “How was that funny?” he asked almost petulantly.

“It’s not.  It’s just something Charlie told me earlier tonight.  She said I ought to reach out and take what I want, because if we both kept waiting, we’d never get what we most wished for.  I thought she was speaking hypothetically.  I reached out and grabbed what I wanted.  I was so afraid you wouldn’t want it too.  I suspect now she was trying to play matchmaker.”

Cas hesitated, but decided he might as well risk it all, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean smiled and leaned down to kiss Cas again.  “I love you too, Cas.  Remind me to thank Charlie in the morning.”  

The next time they parted, Dean looked at Cas uncertainly.  “Cas.  Do you think...I mean...Look, I know you don’t like to sleep.  And I know you don’t like to sleep in beds.  But would you stay the night?  I mean with me?  It’s just, well, I’m tired of being cold and lonely.  I want you with me Cas.”  

Cas’s heart bloomed so fast, he found it hard to breathe, much less speak.  So he simply nodded.  Dean’s face split into an enormous smile and his hand slipped down to Cas’s as he led him to their room.  

While it was much later before they actually slept, Cas discovered for the first time that falling asleep wasn’t nearly so terrifying when you had someone’s arms around you to catch you.  

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Cas woke to the warm weight of Dean’s arms around him and green eyes watching him intently.  It was the first morning since becoming human that he felt content and well rested, despite the late night the evening before.  

When Dean realized Cas was awake, Cas could feel him tense ever so slightly, his arms tightening around Cas as though all they wanted to do was hold him in.  Cas smiled in response.  “Good morning, Dean.”  

Dean relaxed and smiled back, searching Cas’s face for something, though Cas wasn’t sure what.  But his eyes glowed, the green brightening, highlighting the lashes and freckles that framed them.

“You look a lot happier than you usually do this early,” Cas commented.  

Dean’s gaze softened.  He leaned in for a kiss, hesitating slightly as though he was unsure that whatever possessed Cas to approach him the night before would have faded in the morning light.  “I should,” he whispered quietly.  “You’re still here,” Dean said, awe lacing his voice as though he expected Cas to have vanished in the night.

“You sound surprised.”

“No,” replied Dean.  “I’m impressed.”  

Cas looked at him askance and sat up slightly against the headboard so he was staring down at Dean.  “ _That’s_ all it took to impress you?” he asked in dismay.

Dean looked up at him with a bemused expression on his face, “Hey, I’m a simple guy.”  His look turned sly, “Although, I will say, the costume didn’t hurt.”  

Cas leaned down to meet Dean’s lips with his own.  “Perhaps tonight I can be Tarzan,” he said grinning.

Dean groaned and sighed happily into Cas’s mouth.  Suddenly he flipped the former angel beneath him.  Slipping between Cas’s knees, he smiled in contentment as he pressed their bodies together whispering a emphatic,  “whatever.”    

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, Cas does ask Dean about those spark plugs and they do fix the Volvo!


End file.
